


Master of Death

by MWolfe13



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Auror Hermione Granger, Auror Ron Weasley, Character Death, Deathly Hallows, F/M, In Hiding, MACUSA | Magical Congress of the United States of America, SHIELD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:36:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 22
Words: 74,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25390231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MWolfe13/pseuds/MWolfe13
Summary: Being the Master of Death is not what it seems. In order to hide the Deathly Hallows, Hermione is forced to flee to the United States, bringing one along with her. She hopes to fly under the radar under orders to wait it out until it's safe to return home but as events unfold, her path becomes tangled with one Archer from SHIELD.
Relationships: Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton/Hermione Granger, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley
Comments: 164
Kudos: 270
Collections: Hermione Granger's Big Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my work for Hermione's Haven Big Bang! Huge shout out to my awesome Beta S.Joan who puts up with me messaging her late at night for things to look up or talk through AND to thescarletphoenixx for her amazing artwork for this story. I think we made a pretty good team. Special thanks to the admin for putting on this event!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Marvel, I'm playing in my favorite sandbox.

****

Hermione finished translating the text in front of her with disbelief radiating through her features. How was this even possible? The Deathly Hallows had been a myth for as long as anyone could remember. Only a few people knew that they were indeed real. Yet here she was, in a recently warded cave, paging through a very old book about the real meaning behind being the Master of Death.

Their mission had started when the Ministry had gotten some intelligence that Antonin Dolohov and a couple of Death Eaters were spotted. Hermione had led her team of Auror’s on a long and tiring chase all over the U.K. Ginny was pregnant with Harry’s second child, the morning sickness so severe that Harry had taken some leave to help her with little James. Ron was on the verge of resigning as an Auror, his wants more in line with helping George with the shop than catching Dark Wizards. That had left Hermione with the task of taking half their department on this assignment. Their numbers may have seemed like overkill, there were no more than five in the Death Eater group, but there had been some dangerous names on the list of those spotted. They had evaded capture for years, turning up now was either a little mistake on their part or a neatly laid trap.

Being an Auror had not been Hermione’s life goal, it had been more of the boy’s dream. She’d joined because, at the time, they couldn’t bear to be separated from one another. The Ministry had let them take their NEWTs with little argument, and they’d been thrown into the Auror Academy almost 6 months after the war had ended. Now, Hermione had sailed through the ladders of command to the point that she was being eyed for the Head Auror position and there were even rumors around the Ministry that she was being considered for the position of Head of the DMLE.

No, Hermione had never envisioned herself as an Auror but she was a damn good one.

Her team had been ordered to check the perimeters. Hermione was sure that this cave had been Dolohov’s target. She’d been tracking him directly, their intelligence confirmed he was the leader of his little group of fugitives. She had a unique skill that enabled her to feel when he was near, a lovely reminder of their time in the Department of Mysteries. Hermione couldn’t explain her excitement the more her scar burned as she played cat and mouse with him. For years, it had galled her that he’d avoided arrest for as long as he had. On the day of her academy graduation and every anniversary since, Dolohov had sent her a bouquet of flowers. The flowers were always the same; pink and red carnations, the bunch wrapped with white clovers. Hermione didn’t need to be a Pureblood to know what they meant. The insult of continuing to let him walk free because he was just that damn good at leaving no trace was something that’d bothered Hermione for far too long.

She’d entered the cave’s range, the feel of ancient magic washing over her just before her scar had stopped burning entirely. She’d longed to keep pushing on, knowing with the Anti-Apparition wards surrounding the area that he couldn’t get far, but she’d been too tempted to leave the other magic alone.

It hadn’t taken her long to translate the runes surrounding the cave entrance and figure out how to take down the barrier that stopped anyone from entering. The book had not been hidden, proudly displayed on a stone-made pedestal at the end of the small cavern. She’d picked it up gently, marveling at the preservation of this text despite the clear signs of it being old; how old had been the question. With sudden clarity, Hermione had realized that this must have been what Dolohov was after. He’d had weeks to scour this area, there was no possibility he had not stumbled on the cave as she had.

So she’d ordered her team to surround the area, keep watch while she found out what was so important that he’d risked real capture.

Now, she wished she’d never opened it.

The repercussions of this knowledge were great. Ministries would kill for it, she was sure. There was no choice, she would have to ask Kingsley to classify this as ‘need to know’. She’d have to convince him that it was best left in her care where she could lock it up and throw away the key. Her one consolation was that only one of the Deathly Hallows remained in someone else's care. Harry had gotten rid of the other two long ago. Still, it wouldn’t do not to take chances.

Just then, a burning pain caught her unawares. Hermione had been so absorbed in her thoughts, she hadn’t noticed that her scar had started to heat up until her mind couldn’t ignore it any longer.

Clutching the book to her chest, Hermione quickly stood, wand at the ready. Antonin Dolohov stood at the entrance, grinning at her. One of the scariest things about him was he didn’t exude crazy, not as Bellatrix had. He was grinning at her like an adoring schoolboy and if she didn’t know him, she would have said he was of sound mind. Hermione briefly wondered about the status of her team before forcing it from her mind. He had proven to be very dangerous. One mistake and it would be over.

She knew she couldn’t give him an inch and with a mask of confidence, she smirked. “Would you look at that? And here I thought, I’d spend the rest of the day running you to the ground.”

Antonin was not fooled. “Kotyonok, don’t you know? It was I who was running you to the ground. You are exactly where I wanted you.”

It _had_ been a trap. He had to know what this book was. He’d just been lazy and used her to get it. “I suppose you know what’s in here.”

He leaned against the wall, giving her a slow nod. “It doesn’t hurt to tell you, I think. You won’t be leaving this cave free.” He chuckled as she lifted her wand. “Not so fast, Kotyonok. We have some time. Yes, I know the information that book contains. The Dark Lord was obsessed with the Deathly Hallows. His ancestors wrote about the ritual, and he spent the entire war searching for this cave.”

“Your master’s dead,” Hermione told him. “The Deathly Hallows are no more. There’s nothing for you, Dolohov.”

Antonin straightened from his position, lazily summoning his wand from a holster on his trousers. “On the contrary, Kotyonok. I find there is much left in this world for me.” He sent purple flame her way.

Hermione was already moving to the side, firing back a charm Dolohov easily sidestepped. She smirked as the red sparks exploded outside the cave. If there was any backup left, they’d converge on her location in a matter of minutes. “Really? I survived that curse the first time around. Don’t you have anything new?”

The sound of shouted orders and booted feet on rock signaled the incoming Auror’s. Antonin shook his head. “Plenty, but I think our playdate has come to end. Until next time, Kotyonok.” He sent a series of spells her way, one after another in rapid succession. Hermione was able to shield two, but the third broke her barrier and she was forced to dodge the next three. She landed on the ground, gritting her teeth as her forearm caught on a piece of rock. 

When she looked up, three of her Auror’s were running into the cave and Antonin Dolohov was gone.

Hermione cursed, hurriedly getting to her feet and jogging to the others. “Antonin Dolohov was here. The anti-apparition wards are still up. He can’t have gone far.” 

One of the Auror’s, Jones, shook his head. “Someone manipulated the wards until they stopped just before this cave. He’s gone.”

She closed her eyes. Stupid. She’d been so distracted by the information she’d found, she’d missed everything. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

“We’ve captured the Lestrange Brothers, though.”

Her eyes snapped open. “Any injuries?”

Jones shrugged. “None on our side, but the younger doesn’t look like he’ll make it. We received your signal, and he started throwing Avada’s like candy. Roberts got him with a slicing hex.”

She shrunk the book in her hands, putting it in her pocket for safekeeping. “Let’s go.”

She followed her team through the trees, noting the signs of battle. Ozone was still prevalent in the air and scorch marks littered the scene, remnants from all the missed spells. She noticed the bodies covered in white sheets, hoping they were Death Eaters and not her own men. 

Rodolphus Lestrange was glaring at them, hands restrained behind his back. “He needs medical attention.”

Hermione knelt beside Rabastan, the man barely breathing. Roberts hadn’t hit him in an artery, but she could tell he’d never make it to St. Mungos. “He won’t make it, Lestrange. He’s lost too much blood, even a blood replenisher won’t work in time.”

Rodolphus shook his head in denial, bowing his head to hide the tears rolling down his face. “No! You’re wrong! He wasn’t supposed to die.” He fell to his knees, his head falling with a thunk onto Rabastan’s shoulder. “You weren’t supposed to die, you stupid git.”

Hermione looked away from the scene, internally sighing as Lestrange’s sobs grew louder with each passing second. Her eyes landed on the beat-up backpack. “That theirs?” she whispered to the closest Auror.

He nodded, shifting his eyes to the brothers and then back to her. “We’ve already searched it. There are camping supplies, clothes, some potions. They had a spare wand in there too, a few rocks, muggle food packs.”

Rocks? Hermione thought that strange, but she put it away. “I’ll check the wand and see if I recognize it. The bodies…”

“Ours.”

She sighed, no longer feeling the least bit sorry for the Lestrange brothers. He could grieve when they were done with him, others would know his pain in just a few hours. Merlin knows he’d have all the time he needed when they took him to Azkaban. She stood, drawing her wand to send a Patronus to Kingsley. “Find out what you can from him.”

After notifying the Minister that the situation was more complicated than they believed and requesting that another team be sent in, Hermione picked up the backpack discarded on the ground. Predictably, the bag had an extension charm on it, making the inside bigger than it should be. She found worn muggle clothing, and nonperishables, along with some dirty sleeping bags. She saw the handle of a wooden stick and pulled out the wand.

The Elder Wand.

Hermione choked on her next breath, staring at the familiar piece of wood with disbelief. What were the Lestrange brothers doing with the Elder Wand? She remembered Harry snapping the wand in two and throwing it, never to be seen again. Wands couldn’t come back from that, could they? Hermione stuck the wand in her hair, anxiously searching the rubbish until she felt the smooth stones. She grabbed the handful, pulling them out and searching through them.

She saw it right away; black, shiny, and smooth against her palm. The Resurrection Stone. All they’d needed was the Invisibility Cloak to have all the Deathly Hallows. Now, knowing how close these Death Eaters had been to their goal, she knew something needed to be done. Dolohov had escaped, or had he? These magical artifacts were important to him. Would he have left them with two men Hermione was sure were meant to be sacrificed?

She wasn’t risking it.

Hermione secured the wand and the stone, briefly letting her men know something had come up and she needed to see the Minister at once. As she walked to the boundary of the apparition wards, she felt eyes on her. She glanced behind her right before she apparated. Rodolphus was still crying over his now-deceased brother, but he was staring at her, a knowing glint in his eyes. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being the Master of Death is not what it seems. In order to hide the Deathly Hallows, Hermione is forced to flee to the United States, bringing one along with her. She hopes to fly under the radar under orders to wait it out until it's safe to return home but as events unfold, her path becomes tangled with one Archer from SHIELD.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge shout out to S.Joan and thescarletphoenixx for their work on this story!

Harry Potter clenched his hands in frustration as Hermione showed him the wand in her possession. “That’s definitely the Elder Wand.”

“Blimey, mate.” Ron shook his head from his seat. “I saw you break it. Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” Harry took a step back, moving to the edge of Kingsley’s desk. “I can feel its allegiance from here. It wants me to take it.”

Hermione shoved the wand into her pocket. “There’ll be none of that. We can be on opposite sides of the room until Kingsley comes back.”

When Hermione had stormed her way into the Minister’s office, he had just sent her requested backup and was surprised to see her so soon. She’d explained that the situation had changed, and a warded conversation later, he was personally seeing to the interrogation of Rodolphus Lestrange while Hermione briefed the boys. She’d known there was little chance of the wand being a fake, but it was disheartening to know she’d been right. 

“This ritual,” Ron started. “You said it had to do with being the Master of Death?”

“I didn’t get to read through the entire thing,” she admitted. “Dolohov ambushed me before I could, but I did scan the importance. The implications… He said You-Voldemort was highly interested in this legend, tasked multiple Death Eaters with finding the cave it was in.” She didn’t look to Harry as she finished talking, internally scolding herself over the fear of using a single name after all this time.

Harry looked to the ceiling. “That’s not good. How many of them know about this, do you suppose?”

“Many,” Kingsley spoke from the doorway. He walked to his desk but chose to lean against the other edge like Harry instead of sitting in his seat. “Rodolphus admitted that the entire inner circle and some of their families knew about the myth. I have to admit, I’ve heard vague references to there being more to achieving the status of Master of Death.”

And his family was Sacred Twenty-Eight, no matter the ‘blood-traitor’ status they’d held for several years. Hermione bit her lip, thinking through the possibilities. “No one can know we have all the Hallows. Who knows how much support Dolohov has?”

“We still don’t know why Dolohov let the two he had go,” Ron pointed out. “He’s a bloody genius, a mad one at that. He wouldn’t have left them in the hands of the Lestrange brothers without a plan.”

“The cloak.” Harry ran a hand through his messy hair. “Maybe he’s after the cloak.”

“He would be eventually,” Hermione allowed. “He’d have to possess it to complete the ritual. I don’t think that’s worth sacrificing the other two Hallows over, though.”

“That’s just the thing,” Harry insisted. “I’ve taken more of a public outreach position instead of field operations. I have no reason to use the cloak, so it never leaves my house. My house is a fortress, unplotted and Fidelius kept. Who would be the best person to take charge of the other two? The Wizard who technically owns them.”

Then they’d be in one place and all one would have to do is wait for someone to slip and reveal the Potter’s location. “Except now we’re not going to do that. The option to hand them over to you never crossed my mind.”

“It did mine,” Kingsley admitted quietly from his perch. “I was thinking that on the way back up here.”

Hermione stared at him incredulously. “No, Minister. The Deathly Hallows can’t be in the same place. That makes them too obvious a target.”

Ron snorted, “Tell him, Mione. Yet, how many others would think that’s the best idea? Dolohov’s a mad tosser. He probably counted on us doing the obvious.”

“There’s always Gringotts,” Hermione put out there.

Ron shook his head. “Gringotts has proven to be faulty. They’ve been broken into at least twice in our lifetime. If three teenagers can break in, Dolohov won’t have any trouble. I know for a fact that Bill could use a fraction of his Curse Breaker training to successfully infiltrate Gringotts if he wanted to.”

Hermione sighed, “You can’t be suggesting we keep them together under one place. You just agreed that was a bad idea.”

“The opposite, actually. I think they needed to be split up, taken to other parts of the world.”

All eyes went to him, the silence growing uncomfortable as everyone thought about what he was suggesting. Wizarding Britain had not repaired their image fully after the war yet, their allies were continually wary. To suggest such a favor… Kingsley was the first to speak. “I cannot list a single nation that I would trust with something of this magnitude. Too many have tried to get a foothold in our rebuilding efforts as it is.”

Hermione and Ron stared at each other, having a silent conversation with their eyes. She knew what he was suggesting, even if the others hadn’t reached his level of thinking yet. She shook her head slightly, he nodded once in return. Her shoulders sagged, and he gave her a tired smile and shrugged his shoulders.

Harry was the second person to realize what Ron had been implying. He pushed away from the desk, crossing the office to stand with them. “No! I can’t uproot Ginny and James that way!”

“You wouldn’t have to,” Hermione reassured softly. “It’s Ron and I who would have to do the moving.” She looked to the ground. “It makes sense. Neither of us is attached romantically. Ron…” She looked at him, seeing the resignation on his features. “You’re this close to retiring…”

“I still can.” Ron gave them a half-smile, the effort failing to mask his miserable tone. “We can’t be Auror’s, Mione. We can’t do something that will attract attention to ourselves if we do this.”

“Wait,” Kinglsey interjected. “You’re suggesting you and Hermione take a piece of the Hallows to a different part of the world?” He shook his head. “Have you forgotten how famous the three of you are? Two parts of the Golden Trio can’t up and disappear without a trace.”

“Sure we can.” Hermione wrapped her arms around herself. “We try to stay out of the press anyway. If the Ministry maintains its stance on us being on Death Eater related missions, they’ll eventually grow bored as time passes.”

Harry shook his head. “No. We’ll think of another way.” At Ron and Hermione sharing a look, Harry grabbed Hermione’s shoulders, shaking her softly. “Mione, no. You’re about to be promoted, the youngest female Department Head in the history of our country. Ron, you can’t just abandon your family that way.”

Ron pat Harry on the shoulder. “I’d go knowing you were there to take care of them.”

Kingsley looked at three subdued faces, shaking his head. “I think I have some say as your Minister. This is a drastic action, one I don’t think we should take.”

Hermione pulled away from Harry’s grip, rounding on the Minister. “Do you have a better idea we can put into effect in twenty-four hours? I know Dolohov better than anyone in this room. He’ll strike while he can. The sooner we separate the Hallows, the better off this country will be.”

No one could deny that, and while Harry’s face maintained its stubborn countenance, Kingsley’s was edging more toward resignation. Hermione didn’t like the idea any more than they did. She _was_ on a fast career path. She had the ability to make a difference, and she knew she could do it. Yet, what was the point if everything unraveled because she’d been selfish. Ron was willing to give up his family, and family had always been everything to him.

She sighed, the weight of it all feeling like a crushing ton on her shoulders. She gave Ron a grim smile, jerking her head to the door. “You and I should start planning. We’ll need to make some stops if we’re going to leave for the foreseeable future.” 

“Hold on,” Harry argued. “We haven’t finished discussing this.”

“Sure we have, mate.” Ron shrugged once, impatience starting to color his tone. “Look, step back from the situation and think. It’s only for as long as it takes you guys to catch Dolohov and his conspirators. Once that’s done, we can come home.”

“It took us a while to get a lead on him this other time,” Harry pointed out.

“We’re wasting time.” Hermione struggled against snapping. She knew Harry would argue against this until he was blue. “Harry, we have to do this. None of us like it, but unless you plan on forcing us here or using your pull as Savior of the Wizarding World, you can’t stop this from happening.” She scowled when his face went blank. “Don’t even think about it!”

“Mione…”

“No!” Hermione breathed deeply when Ron put a calming hand on her shoulder. “No, Harry. You need to let this go unless you plan on moving Ginny and James instead.” When he stayed silent, she pressed on. “I don’t want this to happen either, but I have faith Dolohov will be captured before too long. Are you telling me you aren’t a good Auror?”

Harry’s shoulders sagged. “No.”

“I’m glad that’s settled then.” Hermione turned away. “Come on, Ron.”

Ron looked between his two friends, one moodily staring at the floor and the other walking out of the room stiff-backed. He sighed heavily, hunching his shoulders and following Hermione out of the office.

* * *

The Burrow was as lively as ever, a million conversations going on at once while they ate. Hermione and Ron soaked in as much as they could. They’d spent the rest of the day preparing; withdrawing funds, clearing their desks, assigning their cases to other Auror’s. Hermione had taken an old world map she’d used to track down other Death Eater’s, randomly pointed to a place and having Ron do the same. She didn’t know where he was going, they’d agreed not to tell anyone, even each other.

Hermione had gotten America, the United States specifically.

It was a good place to disappear to. Criminals had done it for years, blending into the large country through their black market with essentially no trouble. She wouldn’t have an issue staying low, though she wasn’t sure what she’d do. Her life was here; her friends, family, job. She knew no one across the pond. 

She supposed that was the point, wasn’t it? 

She heard Ginny ask Harry what was wrong for the tenth time since they’d arrived, wanting to sigh dejectedly as she avoided looking at him. He wasn’t happy, and in a throwback to his teenage years, wasn’t speaking to her or Ron. She wished he wouldn’t be that way. They had _no_ choice in the matter. Did he want his wife and son to be at risk even more than usual? She hadn’t come up with the idea, but she knew it was the best one they had. 

Ron leaned closer to her, whispering even though the clash of voices would have concealed their conversation. “We need to tell them.”

Hermione nodded. “I know. Now?”

“Might as well get it over with,” he grumbled. He cleared his throat loudly, sending everyone into silence. Hermione laced her fingers through the hand on his lap, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “There’s something Mione and I have to tell you.”

“I think we all know what that’s going to be,” Bill joked. “Took you two long enough.”

Hermione smiled softly, shaking her head. “No, that’s not it.”

Ron squeezed her hand, and she sat back. This was his family. She’d let him break the news. “There’s an opportunity for Hermione and I to work with the International Auror’s. We’re taking it, we have a chance to do a lot of good. The only downside is we’ll be leaving tomorrow morning at the latest. They need us right away.”

No one breathed a word for a few moments, the silence too out of place in the normally bustling house. Ginny was looking from them to Harry, James in a child’s seat between them, while Harry stared at his plate. Food lay untouched as everyone processed what he’d just said. Hermione started to feel anxious as they became the intense focus of the entire Weasley clan. Ron had tightened his grip on her hand to the point of prickling pain.

Then all at once, the dam broke, various voices rising above the other, trying to ask questions. In a way, Hermione felt relieved, even if the yelling was in part directed at her. This family was a passionate bunch, always eager to share their opinions on any given situation. To fight, and yell, and try to change their minds mean they cared. 

She’d miss them.

Molly raised her wand, a loud bang sounding through the room. One by one, everyone descended into silence. James started wailing, startled by the sudden noise. Harry took him from his seat, escaping the room before Ginny could protest. Ron let out a soft snort at the action, and Hermione wanted to laugh despite the situation. Leave it to their best friend to find a way out of a family confrontation.

Molly gestured to Arthur, who grimaced but took on the role of speaking first. “Son, why the two of you? You were asking me to look over your resignation paperwork the other day. What’s going on?”

Ron shrugged. “It’s classified, but they asked for the best and, well, we’re it.”

George snorted, “Mione, I believe. You? Eh. Besides, you were supposed to become my partner. Did you forget that?”

“Of course he didn’t,” Hermione protested. “He’ll still help you, George, when we get back.”

Bill shook his head, leaning back in his chair, the back lifting as he regarded the two of them. “I don’t believe you. If the ICW is so interested in our people, why not pick Harry? No offense, brother, but you aren’t the Auror he is.”

Hermione wrenched her hand from Ron’s, standing from her chair as she rounded on Bill. “Of course he isn’t. Harry is good with people and a decent fighter, but Ron has the best tactical mind in the department. _That_ is what the ICW wants, and _that_ was why your brother was chosen.”

Arthur held up his hands. “Alright. I understand tensions are high, but let’s not start throwing hexes.” He sent a pointed look Hermione’s way. “I’m happy the ICW has noticed the talent that runs between the two of you. How long will you be gone? George, I’m sure a small delay won’t hurt the shop.”

Hermione sat back down, not disguising her grab for Ron’s hand. This would be the hardest part to explain, and she wasn’t excited for the fallout. At this moment, she wished she’d pulled a Harry and found something essential to take her from the room. “We’re not sure, exactly. We know it could take a while, and we know not to expect many opportunities to come home before it’s done.”

The cacophony of raised voices, particularly Molly’s, was enough to make James cry from the room he was in.

* * *

“We’ve always been together. Even when the world was falling apart, I knew I could count on you by my side.”

Hermione sighed, bumping Harry’s shoulder with her own. “It won’t be forever, Harry. I have to believe that.”

Ron was clearing out his room, trying to do so stealthily enough that his parents didn’t notice. It was fine for now. His mother was too upset to speak to either of them, but soon she’d remember they had hours before they left, and she was bound to smother them. Ginny had taken James home, citing pregnancy tiredness, not an untrue statement given how hard this one had been. That left the two of them to spend time together, just the two of them, the way they preferred sometimes when everything was too much.

“What are you even going to do?” Harry demanded, “The Auror life is all you know. You’d be bored doing menial work. How are you supposed to make the difference you want to from some unknown location?”

Hermione scoffed, “I’d never settle for a menial job. You know that. I _will_ be making a difference. By taking the Resurrection Stone, I’ll be buying you time to track down anyone involved in this insane plan.”

“I still don’t like it.” Harry kicked at the dirt beneath his feet. “Why did Ron have to win the Elder Wand’s allegiance if he’s going to take it? Wouldn’t it be safer for him to take it without owning it?”

Hermione looked to the ground. “It’s a contingency,” she whispered. “In the event you…”

“I die,” he finished for her. 

“I’m not saying you will.” Hermione looked at him, daggers in her eyes. “I’ll be most displeased if you let yourself die before we have a chance to come back.”

Harry smirked faintly, his eyes flashing with humor even as he looked to the sky. “I’ll be sure to tell Death that when he comes for me. You can’t take me, mate, Hermione Granger said so.”

“Prat.”

He suddenly pulled her into a hug, pressing a hard kiss to her curls. “I’ll miss you.”

Hermione felt her eyes stinging against his words. “I’ll miss you too.” Merlin, she really would. He was right. No matter what had been thrown at them, they’d always gotten through it together. 

“Hermione,” Kingsley’s voice joined them. “Harry.”

They pulled away from each other. “Minister.” Hermione looked back towards the Burrow. She thought they’d have a few more hours.

He handed Hermione a bent tin can. “I’ll leave the programming to you, Hermione. This won’t be traced, even from my office.” He pulled something from inside his robes, a small flip phone. “Only my number has been programmed into it. This is for emergencies.” He handed it to her, adopting a stern look. “Despite all this, you two are still Auror’s for the British Ministry of Magic. If I feel you need to come home, I _will_ call you back.”

She nodded, gingerly slipping the piece of technology in her bag. She put it next to the Ressurection Stone. “Of course, Kingsley. If something drastic happens, I absolutely want to be recalled.” She drummed her fingers on her thigh. “There wasn’t enough time for me to thoroughly make sure I left no loose ends at the office. I meant to tell you we need to place a jinx on Lestrange before he’s taken to Azkaban.”

Kingsley shook his head. “You don’t need to worry about that.”

Hermione sighed, “Yes, I do. Azkaban isn’t-”

“He’s dead, Hermione.”

Harry shoved his hands in his pockets, turning away from them. Hermione looked from one to the other, hoping they’d elaborate. They didn’t. “I beg your pardon?”

Harry clenched his jaw as he swung back around, giving Kingsley a look of disapproval. “Rodolphus Lestrange was sentenced to the Veil. His execution was carried out immediately.”

The _Veil_ ? Hermione stared at her Minister, aghast. Execution by the Death Arch hadn’t been issued in years. She was _sure_ it’d been outlawed as an acceptable form of punishment at some point. She’d read it in… She remembered the exceptions to that law, one being the Minister acting in immediate defense of the country’s security. She closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. “Was that really the answer?”

“Yes.”

The answer was given without hesitation or remorse. Hermione knew she’d be wasting her time trying to convince him a tongue-tying curse would have been just as effective. She threw a concerned glance at Harry, noting his rigid stance. He, of all people, hated the arch the most. 

Ron walked to them, eyes glazed over. “It’s time, then?”

Harry slapped him on the back. “Okay, mate?”

He shrugged. “Mum and Dad came to talk to me a little bit ago. I’ll be fine.”

Hermione threw her arms around the two of them, breath shuddering when their arms circled her in return. Merlin, she wanted to remember this feeling. The three of them, here like this outside a place they called home. Harry would bury his nose in her hair, and Ron would rest his chin on the top of her head. She’d stick her face into whoever’s shoulder was warmest at the time, and they’d just hold on another in silence until they didn’t need to anymore. She tightened her grip on them, thinking she’d always need this and now she’d have to learn to live without it for a while.

Soon, they forced themselves to let go and after a few more words from Kingsley, Hermione and Ron were activating their Portkeys, disappearing from England with the other two Deathly Hallows in hand.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 will be out in a few days!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being the Master of Death is not what it seems. In order to hide the Deathly Hallows, Hermione is forced to flee to the United States, bringing one along with her. She hopes to fly under the radar under orders to wait it out until it's safe to return home but as events unfold, her path becomes tangled with one Archer from SHIELD.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge shout out to S.Joan and thescarletphoenixx for their work on this story!

**Chapter 3**

She settled for something menial.

Well, the Muggles would call it that. Hermione called it keeping a hand in both worlds.

The bookstore, located in Washington D.C., was right next to the alley entrance of the city's Wizarding district. She’d bargained for the little flat above the shop with the owner. Being so close let Hermione immerse herself in the chaos of D.C.’s Diagon Alley when she chose. Hermione discovered during her first few weeks in her new home that many Witches and Wizards in her generation had the same idea. This entire area was filled with her people, most taking jobs in the Muggle world. Hermione blended in perfectly.

She’d been afraid the fame she had in the United Kingdom would out her in such a popular city, but she needn’t have worried. If anyone she came across recognized her, they didn’t mention it, and no one seemed to get the Prophet or the other UK based newspapers. She didn’t give her last name out, almost no one did around here. She was simply Hermione, the bookstore worker who could be relied on to help find exactly what you wanted or needed.

She hadn’t been simply Hermione in a long time. The change was different, not exactly good or bad, just different.

Hermione had been settled into her new life for six months now, but she thought about home constantly. Ginny would be ready to give birth to the new baby by now if she hadn’t already. There had been bets going on the gender when she’d left, she wondered who’d won. Even the expectant parents had been drawn into the fiasco, each taking a different side, Harry hoping for a girl and Ginny for a boy. She wondered how Ron was doing, wherever he was. She knew he must be missing his family so badly. Had Molly broken down after no word from her youngest son and hexed Kingsley to get answers? She had so many questions about the people she loved, the friends she’d taken for granted. 

More importantly, she worried about her department. Who had been given her future position? Were they doing a good job? Was Harry taking on too much now that she wasn’t there? Had they found any lead on Dolohov? That question burned in her mind the most. Now that six months had passed, Hermione realized that maybe disappearing had pushed him to ground. She was technically the Potter’s Secret Keeper, so the knowledge of their location was gone as well. She’d left a single written note of the address and put it in Harry’s safekeeping should he wish to allow new people entry. Since he was a paranoid git most of the time, she doubted the piece of parchment left his house. 

With no clue as to where the other Hallows were and no access to the one with a known location, Antonin Dolohov may have decided to wait it out. That possibility was disconcerting. He’d only surfaced the last time because of the book he’d been searching for, the one she kept locked away in her flat. Not for the first time, Hermione was tempted to pull the old flip phone out of her pocket and call the only number programmed in. Like every other time she had the urge, Hermione skimmed her fingers over the concealed bulge in her pants and forced herself to do something else. Kingsley would call when she was needed. 

Hermione was reorganizing the political science section of the store when the bell rang, signaling someone had entered the building. She finished placing the books on the shelf before walking to see if the person needed any assistance. That was, perhaps, the best part of her job. She felt satisfaction when she helped a customer find what they needed. It made her useful in this small way. 

She found him in the mystery section, eyes scanning the shelves. He was dressed in dark blue jeans over a faded hoodie, short-cropped hair spiking up at the end. He hadn’t acknowledged her yet, so she cleared her throat. “Can I help you find anything today?”

He didn’t answer, eyes narrowing and mouth twisting in a frown.

Hermione rolled her eyes at his blatant rudeness. A simple no would have sufficed. Deciding the man wasn’t going to get off that easily, she tapped him on the shoulder. “Sir? I asked if I could help you with anything.”

He turned to face her, hand going up to his ear. No, it was touching the small skin-toned device resting on the inside. “I’m sorry, did you say something? I had my hearing aids off.”

Hermione blushed in immediate embarrassment, scolding herself for not noticing before. “I-I was asking if I could help you with anything.”

His eyes lit up. “Yeah, actually, you can. I’m looking for a John Grisham book, but it’s not in this section.” He peered at her nametag. “Hermione, is it? Unique name. I’m Clint.”

He pronounced her name wrong, ending it at the n. He wasn’t the first one to do so since she’d moved. She’d long stopped being irritable about it. Instead, she gave him a small smile and led him to the checkout counter. “It’s Her-mi-o-knee, actually. I think I know the one you’re looking for. Is it ‘A Time To Kill’?”

Clint leaned against the wooden counter, surprise evident. “How’d you know?”

Hermione shrugged and turned to the computer, warily opening the server that would allow her to search for the book. “A new edition was published this year. It’s renewed interest in his work. We only had a few copies and they sold quickly. Are you a big fan of his writing?”

Clint rubbed the back of his neck, giving her a sheepish smile. “I don’t really have reading interests. I use them to pass the time on my job. People will give me recommendations, and I read them to have something to talk about when it’s required.”

That was an odd choice of words, but Hermione was soon distracted by the error that popped up. “Oh, come now. Don’t start.”

“Something wrong?”

Hermione huffed, crossing her arms over her chest as the screen froze. “I was trying to bring up the form to place an order for you, but the screen is frozen. I’m not very good with technology, you see, and this devil machine hates me.” When she was back home she planned on badgering Arthur Weasley on the charms he used to make technology safe for magicals to use. He’d obviously had the right idea in his experimenting. 

Clint chuckled, “No worries. You can recommend something you do have, and I’ll take it.”

Hermione bit her lip, moving the mouse in a frenzy before giving up. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’m leaving for work tomorrow anyway.”

She pressed the button to turn the computer off, already knowing it would need to be booted up again for things to run smoothly. She took Clint back to the mystery section, picking out a book she’d already read. “Here. It’s the start of a series.”

“Along came a spider,” he murmured. He turned it over, reading the words on the back. “Have you read it?”

“I wouldn’t recommend a book I haven’t personally read.” She walked back, contemplating trying to fight the beast to get him checked out. No, it was best to do everything by hand. She located the emergency box usually reserved for power outages, taking out the calculator and paper receipts used for such times. 

“What happens if I only have card?” Clint asked curiously. 

Hermione hadn’t thought of this. She cast a glance at the computer again with pursed lips before sighing in defeat.

Clint laughed at the look of total misery on her face. “I’m just messing with you. I have cash on me.”

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head as she calculated the tax. When he handed her the money, Hermione carefully counted out the change from the loose bills in the box. She could feel his eyes on her, studying her, though Hermione didn’t understand why. She gave him his money along with the receipt. “Thank you for stopping by. I hope you enjoy the book.”

Clint held her hand loosely in his after he’d pocketed the paper, giving her a half-grin. “Do you think maybe you’d like to grab some coffee when I get back and discuss it?”

Hermione blinked, replying, “I’m sorry, but I don’t drink coffee.”

Clint slowly let go of her hand, rubbing the back of his neck and giving her an unsure look. “Right. What do you drink? We can go out for that?”

“Tea,” Hermione managed to say after a moment. Was this happening? 

He grimaced but nodded readily. “Okay, tea then. I can text you when I’m back in town?”

She thought about the phone resting in her pocket, only to be used by one person should they need her. She shrugged apologetically. “I don’t have a mobile.”

He chuckled, “Of course you don’t. I’ll stop by when I get back.” He gave her another grin, walking backward with his book in hand. “Until next time, Hermione.”

Hermione waved and waited until he’d disappeared from her view before bringing a palm up to her face. “Really, Granger? How awkward can you be?”

* * *

Hermione glared at the wand laying innocently on her dresser. Her original wand was with the book, locked up where she wouldn’t be tempted to use it. This wand was one she’d purchased her first week in the states. It hadn’t been hard to locate the black market and the seller had been more interested in making a sale than finding one that fit her. 

She’d known from the start that this wand was a little ornery. She needed to concentrate completely to achieve adequate results. Any half-arsed casting resulted in her current predicament. All she’d wanted to do was try the straightening charm a Witch had recommended the other day in the Alley. Now her hair was frizzier than ever, and she didn’t think any amount of her scented shampoo would wash away the burned smell. 

There was nothing for it, she supposed. Her shift would be starting soon, so there wasn’t time for another shower. Resigned, Hermione threw her hair up in a messy bun, blowing at the frizz that landed just by her eye. She pocketed the troublesome wand next to the mobile and grabbed her bag before leaving the flat.

He was waiting at the entrance, casually leaning against the wall with his head tilted back and eyes closed.

Hermione stopped in her tracks at the bottom of the stairs on the side of the building. She hadn’t seen Clint since he’d left for work a month ago. In all honesty, Hermione had been sure she’d been awkward enough during their meeting for him to forget all about her. A new box of the John Grisham book he’d originally been looking for had come in last week, and she’d set one aside for him. She’d felt foolish doing it at the time, even as she was placing a sticky note with his name on the cover. 

Another strand of hair brushed against her face as Clint opened his eyes. He stood straighter, giving her a friendly wave and his grin. Hermione sighed and brushed her hair back, knowing it wouldn’t be the last time today. Of all the days for him to show up…

Hermione approached the door, giving him a side glance as she inserted the key in the front door. “Hello, Clint. Work went well, I hope?”

Clint shrugged, following her inside the store when she stepped through. “It worked out in the end. I finished the book.”

“Yeah?” Hermione walked back behind the counter, pressing the button for the machine and crossing her fingers it didn’t malfunction like last time. “What’d you think?”

“I hated it. I thought you’d have better taste in books than that.”

Hermione looked up sharply, mouth open and indignation blooming red across her face. Clint was looking at her in disappointment, but his eyes were lit, delight pouring from them. Deliberately, Hermione sent him a dismissive look, turning back to the employee login that popped up on the screen. “Maybe it’s you that has no taste. I’m not surprised.” She made a show of eyeing his body, taking in the muscles of his arms and the jeans that were particularly flattering. “You seem to be more brawn than brains anyway.”

“Ouch,” Clint laughed. He rubbed a hand over his chest, leaning against the counter. “That’s a direct hit to the heart. I don’t know if I’ll recover.”

Hermione fought not to snort, giving him an apologetic look. “Is there anything I can do to help you feel better? It is my fault you’re feeling this way, after all.”

“I remember something about getting some coffee together when I got back.”

“Tea,” she corrected.

He made a face. “Well, no one's perfect, but I’m willing to overlook this obvious flaw in your character.”

This man! She should throw him out, a few boxes had arrived yesterday for the store she’d put off until today, but she was enjoying their conversation immensely. “You should be given a medal for your sacrifice, really.”

“You know it.” Clint grinned, reaching out to tuck some hair behind her ear before she could blow at it. “So, what do you say?”

Hermione chewed her lip in thought. She really shouldn’t. Her job was to keep her head down until she was called home. He was also a Muggle. While Hermione had no prejudice against them, she didn’t agree with the limitations that came with dating them. 

She mentally rolled her eyes, internally shaking her head at herself. It was  _ one _ outing. It wasn’t like the man was proposing to her or anything. He was  _ cute _ , Ginny would thoroughly approve. And like the thought of the redhead had conjured her, Hermione envisioned the woman standing behind Clint, holding up two thumbs up in excitement. 

She sighed softly, suddenly missing home like a fierce ache in her chest. She gave Clint a soft smile. “Sure. I get off around six this afternoon. Does that work?”

“Yeah, I’ll stop by and get you.” Clint furrowed his brow in confusion before his face cleared and he nodded. “See you later.” 

Hermione watched him walk to the door, arching a brow when he suddenly turned and walked back to the counter. “Yes?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, giving her a sheepish look. “I meant to ask. Do you have the next book in the series?”

Hermione laughed, a loud delighted sound that brought a smile to his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look out for Chapter 4 coming soon!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge shout out to S.Joan and thescarletphoenixx for their work on this story!

“Miss?”

Hermione turned from the book she’d been about to grab for an order to the little girl fidgeting nervously. She was dressed in play clothes; shorts and a bright shirt already stained at the bottom. She was biting her lip nervously, looking up at Hermione unsure.

Hermione glanced around and seeing no adults accompanying the child, quickly surmised the situation. She knelt down so that they were at the same level, and gave the girl a reassuring smile. “Are you lost, love?”

The little girl nodded. “I was chasing a cat and we went straight through the barrier. I can’t get back in.”

Ah, so she’d come from the Alley. It must have been in the process of closing back up when she left. “Don’t worry. I’ll take you back and we’ll find your parents. My name’s Hermione.”

Soothed, for the time being, the little girl grinned. “Ella.” Then she frowned. “I’m not supposed to tell you that. Mommy says I shouldn’t say my name to strangers.”

Amused, Hermione stood up and reached for Ella’s hand. “I’m sure she also told you that we have to keep our magic a secret. It’s the law.”

The little girl’s face scrunched up in thought. “But I can talk about it with other Witches and Wizards.”

“That’s true,” Hermione agreed. “Yet, you didn’t know I was a Witch until now.”

Ella looked at her strangely, her face at the beginning of a glower. “Are you trying to trick me? Everyone knows only Witches and Wizards live this close to Liberty Lane.”

Hermione hadn’t known that, exactly. She’d known that the street was mostly populated by magical residents, but not a single Muggle? No, that couldn’t be right. She could have sworn she’d seen a few Muggle’s come out of the residential building further up the street. Then again, if it was common knowledge in this society that even a little girl knew, those Muggle’s must be married into magic. 

She smiled easily, leading Ella out of the store and into the alley after locking the storefront with a wave of her hand. “You’ll have to forgive me. I’m not from around here. I only moved in a few months ago.”

Ella nodded, accepting the answer. “You have a funny accent.”

Her mouth dropped open for a second before she rolled her eyes. “You know, my accent is perfectly normal where I come from.” 

“But you aren’t there, you’re here,” Ella argued. 

Hermione let the discussion fade into silence after realizing she was arguing with a child. Reaching the bricked wall, she found the carved rune barely visible on one of the blocks. With one long line and two connecting ones that curved upwards, the Fehu rune marked the entrance to Liberty Lane. The enchanted property of the rune called to the magic of Witches and Wizards close enough to feel the pull. They had been etched onto entrances across the United States centuries ago. The shape was worn, but the magic remained strong and did not look out of place to any Muggles who might make their way down here.

Hermione traced the pattern with her thumb, pouring magic into the rune as she went. From one second to the next, the rune glowed with dim light, the wall in front of her shimmering like a curtain to reveal the cobbled steps and people strolling about. Ella squealed in glee before she took off through the barrier. Hermione’s eyes widened as the little girl wove her way through the legs of the crowd, clearly having a destination in mind.

Cursing as she realized she’d lost sight of her, Hermione raced through the barrier, looking once to make sure the shimmer was fading away. It didn’t take Hermione long to find her, the little girl chatting excitedly with a woman who was clearly her mother. The woman herself didn’t look very pleased, but she was smiling at her daughter while keeping a firm hold on Ella’s hand. 

They looked up at Hermione’s approach. Ella tried to sprint to her, but her mother kept her in place. “Look, mommy! It’s the book lady I was telling you about!”

The woman rolled her eyes in exasperation before giving Hermione a grateful smile. “Hello. My daughter said you opened the entrance for her to get back in. Thank you very much. I’m Elissa.”

“Hermione,” she greeted. “It’s no problem. She came to find someone right away when she realized she’d been locked out.” 

“She tried to trick me, Mommy.” Ella pulled her hand away from her mom so that she could cross her arms over her chest. “She tried to tell me I might not find someone like us, but I told her  _ you _ said only Witches and Wizards live right outside the Lane.”

Hermione sighed, shaking her head at the little tattletale. “I apologize. I haven’t lived here long, and it wasn’t until your daughter said it that I realized not many Muggles live on this block.”

Elissa nodded in understanding. “That’s alright, that’s how it is with all the communities here in the states. Yours is hidden by a building isn’t it?” At Hermione’s sharp look, Elissa cocked her head in confusion. “Your accent. You do come from Britain, do you not?”

Hermione forced herself to relax. Of course someone would know she wasn’t from here. It wasn’t bad for people to know she was from another country, not unless they kept up with the news over there. “Yes. It’s a bar disguised to look like an abandoned building.” She knelt down in front of Ella. “It was nice to meet you. Make sure to come and see me at the store sometime.”

Before she could get up, the little girl was throwing herself into her arms. “Wait, don’t go! We were going to the menagerie. You can come too!”

Hermione opened her mouth to decline, but Elissa was already nodding in agreement. “Yes, you must come with us. I’d like to buy you lunch as a thank you. We can go after we look at the animals.”

She shook her head. “Oh, that’s not necessary-”

“I insist,” Elissa said firmly. She extended her hand to help Hermione up. “Please. I know how Ella gets and I should have been keeping a better eye on her. You must let me treat you.”

Seeing no choice, especially when faced with the same pair of hopeful eyes, Hermione reluctantly agreed. Ella whooped, throwing a fist in the air before running and dashing off, presumably to the menagerie. Elissa cast her eyes to the air before dashing off after her daughter. Hermione contemplated turning the other way and going back to her store, she was in the middle of a workday after all, but then decided against it. She might run into them again depending on how much they frequented Liberty Lane, and now that she knew most of the shops near her were not Muggle run, it was likely she’d see them around there too. Besides, she’d yet to take a lunch break, so taking an hour to browse and eat wouldn’t be a crime. 

Setting off, Hermione made her way down the path. A newsstand was pushed up against one of the storefronts, the man behind, shouting a headline every few seconds. Hermione paused before she passed it, seeing the name of the Japanese magical community’s major news network. Seeing her confused face, the man said, “We carry publications from all over the world. Only the major ones, mind you, or else I’d need three other stands to start.”

Licking her lips nervously, Hermione asked, “Do you happen to carry the Daily Prophet?”

“Ah, British.” The man nodded. “Of course we carry it.”

Hermione paid for a copy and scanned the front page. There, making the premiere headline as he always did, was Harry. It was the official birth announcement of his second son, made two weeks after the babe was born. She smiled sadly, taking in the haggard-looking parents, holding a bundle wrapped in a handmade blanket while Jamie fidgeted in front of the camera. They were clearly exhausted but still managed to genuinely smile for the picture. Hermione greedily read the words on the page, noting that while she and Ron were mentioned as not being there, it was still perceived that they were on an assignment that had, unfortunately, kept them away from the birth of their second godchild. Hermione’s heart ached, like a knife had burrowed its way to the center and made itself at home. This child wouldn’t have them as godparents, not when they couldn’t be there to make the oaths that bound them together.

Once again, she wondered where Ron was and how he was doing with all of this. Hermione knew, as hard as this was for her, it was a thousand times harder for him. He’d also won the bet, she realized. He’d been part of the group that guessed the next Potter would be a boy. They’d even made a side bet themselves as Harry’s best friends. Hermione now owed him ten Galleons, a month’s supply of chocolate frogs, and a book-free friend date to three Cannons games. She could picture his delighted face as he too read the paper, and his smug grin aimed at her for being right. 

Another pang.

Carefully shrinking the paper and putting it in her pocket, Hermione used the time and concentration to collect herself. Thinking about it would continue to make her miserable. There was no purpose to it. They’d done what they needed to do and they would continue to do so until they no longer needed to. Hermione knew her duty and she wouldn’t have gone through with it if she hadn’t been sure she could stand it.

So she put it away and put a smile on her face as she caught up with her two new friends. 

* * *

She was gray with slightly darker gray spots, ears standing at attention as she observed her new surroundings on the checkout counter of the store. Hermione watched the barely grown Kneazle flick her tail once before deciding to take a nap where she was.

Honestly, what had she been thinking? She kept asking herself this while she checked the store email for any online orders that might have come in. There was no way she wouldn’t look odd to any Muggle that made their way into the store. Not to mention the fact that she’d had to fill out paperwork for a license to even own said Kneazle, and now she had a magical paper trail. Granted, it wasn’t for anything big, but Hermione was supposed to  _ keep that from happening _ at all costs. 

Yet, they had clicked as soon as their eyes had met. Like that day before her third year at Hogwarts when she’d met Crookshanks for the first time, there’d been an instant connection. She’d felt the small shiver in her magic that signified a bond being established. This beautiful girl had claimed her on the spot, and really, how could Hermione leave when she’d essentially gotten another familiar?

She hadn’t been able to, so now she was the owner of a full-blooded Kneazle, named Freya by Ella because they’d been reading a children’s book of mythology at home and Freya was one of her favorites so far. The feline hadn’t objected to the name and had followed Hermione without question out of the shop. She wondered what type of familiar she’d be. Crookshanks had rarely bestowed his affection on anyone that wasn’t her, outright attacking those he found wanting. 

Brown spiked hair caught the corner of her eye, Hermione turning to the door in time to see Clint open it. Freya barely opened an eye before going back to sleep, but Hermione could feel her tail brush against her side as it started to swish back and forth. 

Clint stopped at the sight of the larger feline. “That’s some cat.”

Hermione tucked some hair behind her ear, shrugging nonchalantly. “I was told she’s some type of crossbreed.”

“I’ll say.” Clint came closer, slowly running a finger down Freya’s back. “What’s her name?”

“Freya,” Hermione answered cautiously. As if knowing her Witch was also talking to her, Freya opened her eyes and observed the two for a minute before closing them again and arching her back against Clint’s finger. 

He grinned. “That’s a pretty girl.”

Hermione arched an eyebrow as Clint moved his hand under her chin and Freya allowed him to scratch under there, a faint purr escaping her throat. Well, he had her Kneazle’s approval at any rate. 

“I’m usually more of a dog person,” Clint said when Hermione remained silent. “But cats are okay too, especially the ones that don’t hiss and scratch.” He looked at her, his grin out in full force. “I should have known you would take to cats. I can picture you curled up with tea and a book while a cat snoozing next to you.”

He’d essentially described her alone time back in Britain with alarming accuracy. Hermione sighed, “That does sound appealing.” She cleared her throat. “Did you stop by to browse or are you just here to distract me, again.”

After he’d taken her out, he’d made it a habit of stopping by the shop to flirt when Hermione was supposed to be doing stuff. Two days ago she’d accidentally left a customer waiting to check out far longer than appropriate due to Clint cornering her in the back and taking up her time. He’d felt no remorse in doing so either. The man was a bad influence. 

“I was born looking this way,” Clint defended. “It’s not my fault you get sucked in by my looks.”

“You poor man.” Hermione shook her head in mock sympathy. “How does it feel knowing you’re nothing more than a pretty face?”

“Dead center.” Clint rubbed a hand over his chest. “Once again, you know where to strike.”

She leaned forward, her body slightly bending over the counter. “Would you like me to kiss it better?”

He lifted a brow. “Would you?”

“No.” Hermione grinned. “But I might let you take me out again.”

* * *

She did let him take her out, and then again, and again. He was such a fun guy to be with, and her familiar approved of him, so she saw no reason not to. Then again, Freya was prone to like anyone who gave her chin scratches, but that was neither here nor there. 

They were coming out of a movie when someone bumped into them from behind. Hermione’s hand went to her side as she spun around, but it was only some kids messing around with each other. The one who’d evidently been pushed was already blushing and making his apologies as his friends laughed. Hermione slowly relaxed her hand, eyes following the guys until they were out of sight. Her heart was thudding in her chest, the beat a steady pound to her ears. 

“You okay?”

Clint had his hands shoved in his pockets, his eyes somber and concerned. Hermione nodded, forcing herself not to give in to the urge to reach for her wand. “They startled me, is all.” When he continued to study her, she clapped her hands together. “Do you want some food? I saw a few places I’d like to try.”

He agreed, relief flowing through her. She let him wrap his arm around her shoulder as they walked, Hermione’s arm going around his waist. They discussed the movie, Hermione laughing when Clint impersonated certain characters. Soon, they came to a stop in front of one of the places that had caught her eye on their trek to the theater. Hermione stepped out from Clint’s hold, grabbing his arm and pulling him inside. She found an empty table, a two-seater that was avoided by the larger crowds.

Clint followed along, taking in her excited expression. “I didn’t know you loved pizza this much.”

Hermione took out one of the disposable menus at the table, looking at their options. “When I was small, my parents took me to this one really good pizza place. It was an hour away but was extremely popular, because it was run by this Italian family and they weren’t stingy with their spices. Since it was a long drive, we only went there a couple of times throughout the year. Then I went to boarding school and it was hard to go after that.”

Clint rubbed a hand over his mouth. “I’m not sure this will compare to authentic Italian.”

“I’ve heard things about American pizza.” Hermione looked up from the paper. “I hear it’s a different level of good.”

He snorted, “That’s one word for it. If you really want bomb pizza, you have to go to New York. I’ve been to some good places in Chicago too.”

“New York’s closer,” she contemplated with a thoughtful look.

“We could do a weekend up there if you want,” he suggested. “It’s not an overly long drive.”

Hermione shifted in her seat, thinking about the disguised safe she was meant to be protecting. “Maybe. We’ll have to see.” She looked back down at the menu. “What do you like on your pizza? I’ll try everything but anchovies.”

“That’s too bad. I usually get extra anchovies.”

She looked up in alarm, before smacking his smirking form with her hand. “You’re such a git.”

Clint walked her back to her apartment from the cab they’d taken, his arm around her waist this time. Hermione curved her body into his slightly, letting her head rest where his chest met his shoulder. The night was cool enough that she appreciated the warmth he provided. Most of the shops were closed down for the night, though she knew one or two further down would stay open another hour. The street lights provided the largest source of light down the sidewalk, the warm glow from other apartments the rest of it.

They stopped at the base of the stairs that led to Hermione’s place above the store. “Thank you for the movie.”

Clint leaned against the wall, giving her his half-grin. “No, thank you for the food after. I swear I learned more about you there than I have on all our other dates combined.”

Hermione shrugged, uncomfortably aware that she was not as forthcoming as one would expect after steadily dating someone. “I-”

He held up a hand. “It wasn’t a criticism, Hermione. I haven’t told you my entire life’s story either.” His eyes lit up with somber humor. “Did you know I grew up in a circus?”

Of all the things Hermione expected him to say, it wasn’t that. “Are you serious?”

“Sure.” Clint jerked his shoulder, seemingly laid-back, but his eyes betrayed him. It was always his eyes that gave him away. “I got to handle a lot of sharp swords. It was pretty cool for a while. Then I got recruited for my job. I still miss it sometimes.”

Hermione saw through him, shaking her head as she leaned up and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. “No, you don’t, but thank you for telling me.”

Clint pulled her closer, hand going into her curls. “I conceded the anchovies. I think I deserve a consolation prize.”

She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Your consolation prize is me still considering you dateable.”

He chuckled, “It’s my pretty looks. They get me passes on everything.”

Hermione heard a noise, feeling a brush of magic from the back of the alley. She started panicking internally. Who in the world was coming out of Liberty Lane so late that they didn’t just use other means to get home? She needed to distract Clint before he saw whoever was making their way down the path. The notice-me-not charm was working for now, but soon they’d come too close and the magic would break.

Thinking quickly, Hermione closed the gap between them, fitting her lips over his. His tongue traced the seam of her mouth, his hand tightening in her hair. She grabbed a fist full of his shirt, lips opening so their tongues could tangle together. Hermione let herself lean against him more, his body taking the weight of hers. 

Clint suddenly stilled, his mouth breaking from hers and his hand extracting itself from her hair. It was done quickly, and Hermione winced as he pulled some of the strands in his haste to get free. His body moved in front of hers, his muscles tense. “Who’s there?”

Damn it.

Two teenage couples came out of the charm’s boundary, eyes wide. Hermione looked over his arm, largely mouthing  _ Muggle _ to them and hoping they could see. Then, realizing that these were Americans and their bloody terminology was different, she switched to  _ No-Maj _ . 

One of the boys shrugged. “Sorry. We were hanging back there, but I have to get my girl home. Didn’t mean to disturb you.”

Clint cocked his head. “Alright, but for future reference, an alley is the worst place to take your girlfriend on a date.”

They left hastily, Hermione hearing murmured words as they passed by. She shook her head at the almost disaster. How would she have explained if they’d thought him a Wizard at first glance?

Clint scoffed, turning to her. “How much do you want to bet we’d find alcohol bottles and smokes at the end of the alley.”

“I don’t want to know,” she said instantly. “I think I recognize one of the girls from the apartments down the block. I want to be able to talk to her mother without having that bit of information in my head.”

“Fair enough,” he said easily. He wrapped his arms back around her. “Now, where were we?”

Hermione laughed, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before backing up. “I’m actually feeling tired so this is where I’ll say goodnight. I hope you liked your consolation prize.”

Clint sighed, “It’ll hold me over until I see you again.”

“Tomorrow, you mean?” she asked dryly. 

“It’s a long time if you think about it. That’s at least twelve hours,” Clint told her with faked seriousness. 

Hermione rolled her eyes, running up the stairs. “Goodnight, Clint.”

“Goodnight, Hermione.”

She let herself into her apartment, taking a deep breath once she’d closed the door and letting her head fall with a thunk. A rumbling purr sounded as Freya wove between her legs, his head rubbing against Hermione’s jeans. Hermione sat on the floor, her back to the door, rubbing Freya on a particular spot behind her ear. The Kneazle made a sound of contentment.

Hermione sighed, letting the bond that connected her with Freya comfort her. “Dating a Muggle is hard, Freya. That was too close.”

  
  
  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge shout out to S.Joan and thescarletphoenixx for their work on this story!
> 
> Posted today for Hermione Granger's birthday!

Hermione strolled along the park path, following Clint’s directions to the spot he wanted to meet at. It was a beautiful day, a light layer of clouds covered the sky and a small breeze moved through the air. She was dressed in clothes she’d be comfortable running in, not exactly sure what he had planned for them today. Meeting at the park was a change of pace from what they normally did when they went out. He’d sounded cautiously excited, as if he wasn’t sure how she’d react.

He needn’t have worried. She knew from his physique that he routinely kept up with his body. If Hermione ever decided to let Clint get her out of her clothes, he’d know right away she was no slouch in that department either. 

She chewed her lip, both excitement and worry running through her as she thought of Clint. She liked him. He brought out another side of her that she usually reserved for her closest friends. He made her laugh, able to keep up with what her friends considered her ‘Muggle references’. Her heart skipped a beat every time he gave her that grin, the one that only used half of his mouth. She’d never felt this way with any of the men in her life, past or present. These feelings made her wish she was who she said she was, Hermione the bookstore girl.

But that  _ wasn’t _ who she was and there lay the dilemma. Oh, she was settled in her life here, keeping a low profile and guarding the stone. Yet, she wasn’t content. Harry had been right when he’d pointed out the Auror life was all she knew. She wasn’t used to being this idle, this useless.  _ No _ , she reminded herself.  _ She wasn’t useless. She was doing her job, she was protecting her people.  _ Keeping the Ressurection Stone out of enemy hands was important.

Merlin, this was the problem with dating a Muggle. She’d never subscribed to the tripe the Ministry liked to spout, but she could see it now. How could she continue to grow closer to Clint when she was living a lie? She hadn’t been asking these questions  _ before _ he came into her life. Her parents had taught her all about healthy relationships long before she’d lost them. Two of the key tenets they lived by were communication and honesty. And she couldn’t be honest with Clint, could she?

Unless… No. Absolutely not. Hermione banished the thought from her mind as soon as she thought it. He couldn’t know the truth. Maybe one day, if their relationship progressed far enough, she could tell him about being a Witch. Maybe. Under no circumstances could she tell him about everything else. She’d been ordered by her Minister never to reveal the secrets she held. Harry couldn’t tell Ginny, Ron couldn’t tell his family, and Hermione certainly wouldn’t be able to tell a Muggle. 

Besides, it wasn’t as if Clint was an open book either. He rarely talked about his personal life outside of them, referencing friends here and there, but never anything more concrete. He was vague when she asked about his job, telling her he worked in security. Hermione knew that wasn’t a lie. The little things she’d observed about him pointed to being trained. His eyes always shifted when they entered a building, landing on different points before focusing on her. From experience, Hermione knew he was looking at all the entry and exit points. He held himself confidently, his body always relaxed, but his casual stances were riddled with perfect feet placement. There were more things she’d noticed, little traits that Hermione was sure he didn’t learn in a circus. 

Feeling better about the entire situation once she thought about it, Hermione jogged the rest of the way. She spotted him in the area designated for dogs. He was looking away from her, hands on his hips as he watched something. Hermione followed his line of sight, but all she saw were dogs and their owners. 

Clint greeted her with a kiss when she walked up to him. “Glad you didn’t get lost.”

“This is a dog park,” she pointed out obviously. “I didn’t realize that when you gave me the location.”

His brow furrowed as he looked at her. “You don’t like dogs?”

Hermione shrugged. “I’m more of a cat person, as evidenced by Freya, but I’m not opposed to dogs. I’ve never owned one.”

Just then, excited barks, closer than the ones she’d been hearing from afar, sounded before Hermione was tackled to the ground. She landed on her back, blinking rapidly in shock as she tried to make sense of what happened. Her magic rose, ready to fire back a wandless spell. Who was crazy enough to attack her in broad daylight? The area was filled with Muggle witnesses.

A hot tongue licked its way up her cheek, heavy panting and meaty breath following. 

Clint was saying something, his voice full of both laughter and apology. Hermione found her bearings in time to see a big dog pulled off of her. Clint was holding the dog by its collar. “No, Lucky. You can’t just mow down pretty women as soon as you see them.” He held out a hand to her. “You alright?”

Hermione let him help her up. “Lucky?” she asked. “Is this your dog?”

“Not the first impression we wanted to make,” Clint answered sheepishly. “But he loves pizza so I figure the two of you will get along.”

Hermione eyed the dog, a Labrador from the look of him. He was looking at her with excited eyes, his tail wagging along with grass. He was tense, ready to jump at the slightest hint of invitation, or when Clint took his hand off his collar. Hermione had to grin. Lucky was the furthest thing from her Freya. The Kneazle would never forgive her if she brought a dog like him back to the apartment.

She crouched down, running her hand over his coat. “You like pizza, do you? Doesn’t your owner know not to give you bread?”

Clint snorted, “He’s immune to the perils of pizza bread.”

Encouraged by Hermione’s easy smile and the hand running along his fur, Lucky stepped forward and licked her chin. Hermione shook her head even as she moved her hand to scratch behind his ears. “There’ll be none of that. We’ll get along just fine as long as you don’t lick my face.”

Clint chuckled before bending down and picking up the ball Lucky must have retrieved before jumping her. “Look, Lucky! Go get it!” He tossed the ball, proving his reach was long as it sailed far. Lucky barked in excitement, dashing after it. 

Hermione stood, leaning her chin down and rubbing the wet flesh against the sleeve of her shirt. “So why Lucky?”

“I was wrapping up something for work when he barreled right into an oncoming truck. The poor bastard couldn’t stop in time, hit Lucky full-on.” Lucky came back with the ball in his mouth and dropped it at Hermione’s feet. He barked once in expectation at Hermione’s raised brow. Gingerly, she picked up the slobbered-on ball and threw it, wandlessly using her magic to send it further. “Good aim.”

“Thanks. I’m guessing you took him to the vet,” Hermione prompted.

Clint nodded. “Yeah, I rushed him over. It was touch and go for a bit, but they managed to save him and he made a full recovery. No one tried to look for him while he was recovering so I took him. We’ve been together ever since.”

Her heart melted. “You two look well matched.”

“He’s one of my best friends,” Clint said simply. He wrapped an arm around her, squeezing her once in gratitude before dropping a chaste kiss on her hair. “I’m glad you two like each other. I wasn’t sure how well this meeting would go.”

“I felt the same when you met Freya,” Hermione confessed. “I once had another cat before her, his name was Crookshanks. He loved me, tolerated only a few, and hated everyone else. He would have hissed at you and not given you another moment of his time.”

“Freya likes my chin scratches,” Clint mused. “It keeps me on her good side.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. Freya liked Clint, period. She was also wary around most people, but she wasn’t outright bad-tempered like Crookshanks was. She’d only had Freya for a short time, but she knew that if the Kneazle truly hated someone, they were bad news. 

Lucky rushed back, ball in mouth, and dropped it at their feet again. Hermione held back the sigh that wanted to escape, leaving Clint’s arms to bend down and pick the ball back up and throw it. She had a feeling her arm was going to be sore by the end of their outing.

* * *

Ella and Elissa were waiting for her when she got back.

Hermione was surprised to see them. After their impromptu meeting, and Freya’s adoption, they’d gone their separate ways with vague notions of the pair visiting Hermione at the shop sometime in the future. She’d given the invitation out of politeness with no real expectation that she’d ever see them again. Hermione and Elissa hadn’t found much in common while they’d chatted and Ella ran circles around them. The young woman was dedicated to her daughter and was more in line with the likes of Parvati when it came to interests. She was nice enough, though, and Hermione hadn’t minded the company

But right now, all she wanted was a shower and some tea while she curled up with Freya and a book.

“Hermione!” Ella ran to her when she was a few feet away. The little girl hugged her legs, nose scrunching up and a frown replacing the smile. “You’re sweaty.”

“Ella, manners!” Elissa shook her head. “We’re sorry to drop by unannounced, Hermione. We were grabbing some things and Ella insisted on seeing you. She’s already finished the book you recommended and wanted to tell you about it.”

Hermione could feel her dreams going up in smoke when she looked down at the girl. Her eyes held barely contained excitement, and really, Hermione was touched. How do you say no to someone who was eager to share what they’d read with you? Her parents certainly hadn’t, and part of Hermione’s love of reading as a child was the fact that her parents were always ready to listen when she rambled on. Freya would enjoy seeing them again too.

Considering the matter settled, Hermione patted Ella on the head and grabbed her hand. “Readers are always welcome in my flat. We’ll have some tea while we talk about it.”

Ella cocked her head to the side as they walked up to the stairs. “What’s a flat?”

“That’s what people from England call apartments, baby,” Elissa answered.

“Oh. Well, how come you can’t call it an apartment too?”

“That’s simply how I was raised,” Hermione chuckled. “It would take time and practice for me to do that.” She pushed the key through the lock on the door, letting her magic rush free as she turned her hand to the left. She could feel each of her wards, undisturbed since she’d left, lessen in intensity at the feel of her magic. She opened the door, letting Ella run in first. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure I have anything a little girl will like. I mostly have tea and milk, maybe some juice.”

Elissa shook her head. “Don’t apologize. We came without warning.” She bent down to pet the Kneazle that wound between their legs. “Hello Freya, it’s nice to see you again.”

Hermione led them to the small area furnished by a beat-up couch, a bookcase already crammed with books, and a scratched up coffee table. Another stand was pushed up against the wall, an older television sitting on top. “Would you like me to turn on the telly, Ella?”

“Yeah!” At her mother’s look, Ella grinned sheepishly. “Please.”

She laughed and turned it on by hand. She hadn’t tried to find the workaround for electric-run objects and magic, so she didn’t use it much. She’d much rather read than watch what was on the screen anyway. She summoned her wand to her hand, flicking it behind her in the direction of the kitchen. She listened for the telltale sign of dishes clattering, of the stovetop turning it on, but there was silence.

Hermione sent an irritated glance at the wand in her hand before turning to Elissa. “Is tea alright? You can join me in the kitchen while I make some.”

“Of course. Ella, don’t touch what isn’t yours.”

Hermione grabbed the kettle from the counter and filled it with water from the tap. She flicked her finger in the stove’s direction to turn it on before settling the kettle on top of it. “How have you two been?” Elissa stayed silent. Hermione turned in confusion, slowly turning concerned when the woman seemed not to hear her. She was tracing her finger over the table’s surface, eyes unfocused. “Elissa?”

She blinked, looking up and focusing on Hermione. “Did you say something?”

Hermione made sure the water still hadn’t begun boiling before walking to the table and laying a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Are you alright? You seem...off.”

“I’m sorry.” Elissa shook her head. “Today is generally a hard day, but I was doing so well.” She started to tear up, eyes filling rapidly. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I was feeling alright until we came in.”

Hermione looked back to see the water boiling and cursed the timing. “It’s alright. Here, let me put the leaves to steep and we’ll talk about it.” Hermione squeezed her shoulder before taking the kettle off the stove and turning off the heat. She poured the hot water in a pot, eyeing the different canisters of leaves. The Darjeeling would be good, she decided. She measured out the appropriate leaves and put them in the strainer, placing the ball in the pot and closing the lid over it. She noted the time before turning back around, hoping the time had given Elissa enough of a chance to compose herself.

It hadn’t. The woman was silently crying while rubbing a finger on her left hand. 

Hermione blew out a breath before counting to ten in her head. When she was finished, her mind had shifted into the mindset of being the comforter. She grabbed a nearby tissue box, placing it in front of Elissa. The Witch grabbed a couple, dabbing at her eyes in frustration. “I’m sorry. I’m such a mess. I promised myself I wouldn’t cry today. I was doing a good job too.”

“Someone once told me that crying is your body’s way of purging all the negative emotions from your soul.” Her eyes lowered to the table at the thought of the person who’d said that. Her mother always seemed so wise when Hermione was growing up. “Even if it takes a couple of tries to do so.”

“How clever,” Elissa choked out. Her voice was watery. “I might use that on Ella when she’s older.”

“I feel it’s sound advice all around.” Hermione reached across the table to grab the hand with the finger Elissa couldn’t seem to stop rubbing. “Won’t you tell me what’s wrong? Is something wrong with Ella?”

“No, Ella’s fine,” Elissa reassured her. “Today is the anniversary of my husband's death. He died when Ella was a baby.” She sniffed. “It was a car accident. He was taken to a regular hospital and there wasn’t time to get him to St. David’s before he succumbed to his injuries.”

Hermione squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry for your loss.” She recognized St. David’s as the magical hospital here in the city. If the medical system in this country worked the same way it did in Europe, a Healer would be assigned to the Muggle hospital’s emergency room and they’d intervene when a magical patient was sent there instead. Elissa’s husband must have been too injured for them to transfer in time or for the Healer in question to stabilize him with magic.

Elissa waved her free hand. “It’s been years. I’ve learned to live with it. I have to admit, raising Ella was probably the only reason I didn’t fall into a black pit of grief.” She smiled a little. “Our relationship started in Ilvermorny. I thought I’d spend the rest of my life with him.”

“But the anniversary brings it back,” Hermione guessed.

The woman nodded. “Every time. Ella doesn’t feel the same way I do about it, obviously, so I always keep us busy to distract myself.” She sighed, “I swear I wasn’t even outright thinking about him, but this feeling swept over me when we entered your apartment.” 

Hermione got up to pour the tea into cups, bringing them to the table along with the floating pot behind her. “What sort of feeling?”

Elissa shrugged, accepting the sturdy cup Hermione held out to her. “All these memories started rushing back, like a tidal wave I’d held back too long. I could feel my heart longing to see him again. I would give everything for Ella to have more than just vague impressions of her father.”

“Maybe she can still have that. He lives on through her, but you have those memories. Hearing about him from you would give her the insight into who her father was.” Hermione cleared her throat when Elissa only looked at her. “Of course, that decision is ultimately up to you. I just think that if you want her to know more about him, what better way for her to learn than from someone who loved him?”

Elissa took a sip of her tea, seeming to ponder something before giving Hermione a small smile. “That’s a good idea, actually. It was hard for me to talk about when Ella was smaller, and then she never asked.” She sighed, “I guess I’ve just wanted to see him smile, hear him laugh, at least once more. I must have repressed the need for so long, I was bound to lose it.”

Hermione nodded in understanding, though she was quick to reassure her. “You didn’t lose it completely. I’ve had worse crying sessions over fights with my best friend, I assure you.”

Later when Hermione was getting ready for bed, she contemplated Elissa’s sudden grief as she went through the process of braiding her hair. The poor woman was so strong to keep her sadness away from her daughter. Obviously, the restraint had become too much. She supposed it was a good thing it happened in her flat instead of the middle of Liberty Lane. 

Seeing mother and daughter together as they visited had brought up memories of Hermione’s own mum. She didn’t like to think about her parents much. She sometimes felt she didn’t have a right to, knowing she’d failed in keeping them safe after using magic on them without their consent. They’d died not knowing why they’d been marked to die. They’d died not knowing they had a daughter. Their only crime had been existing in the first place.

Hermione sighed as her thoughts started to spiral, a slight sting starting at the corner of her eyes. This was why she didn’t think of them too often. She’d had years to come to terms with their death. 

_ Crying is your body’s way of purging the negative emotions from your soul. _

She could see her mother in her mind, kneeling next to a younger Hermione, offering those words when the younger her was so clearly angry. Frustrated tears, sadness, had taken over her that day. Her mum and dad had held her through it all, never faltering, even when her accidental magic spiked and shattered all the windows in the house.

Thinking of her parents, she crawled under the blanket spread out on her bed. And imagining their arms around her, snuggled in their big bed in her childhood home, Hermione cried herself to sleep. 

  
  
  



	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge shout out to S.Joan and thescarletphoenixx for their work on this story!

_ She was laying with them on the comfortable grass in their backyard, the thick tree that had come with the house providing shade against the harsh sun. Her head lay against her father’s chest, her mum assuming the same position on his other side. It was something she’d loved to do when she was younger, looking at shapes in the clouds. They’d make a game of it, her and her father, while her mother was the score taker and ultimate authority on tiebreakers. Her father would cheat by tangling one of his hands in her hair and scratching her scalp until she was ready to fall asleep.  _

_ He was doing so now, the gentle scratch of his nails keeping Hermione in drowsy comfort. She was half-asleep, barely keeping her eyes peeled for a discernable shape in the clouds above. Her lids would flutter shut every few seconds, his chest making a comfortable pillow. _

_ “That’s a rabbit.” _

_ Hermione’s eyelids sprung open, pouting as there was indeed a rabbit shape passing through. “Mum,” she whined. “He’s cheating.” _

_ “I am not,” her father objected, sounding affronted. “How is it my fault your eyesight is not nearly as good as mine?” _

_ She sat up, her father’s hand slipping from her hair. She glared at him. “You know exactly what you’re doing! Leave my hair alone.” _

_ He shook his head, staring up at her sadly. “Can you believe this, Helen? My own daughter won’t even indulge a father his joy in bringing his daughter comfort.” _

_ Helen let out a soft snort, half asleep herself. “Leave me out of it.” She opened one eye, her gaze mischievous as she looked at her daughter. “You mustn’t blame your father, dear. He doesn’t have enough hair to know what he’s doing.” _

_ Hermione’s laughter echoed through the yard, Richard Granger sending his wife a disgusted look. “Betrayed by the woman I made vows to. Where is the loyalty?” _

_ “There, there, honey, look at the clouds.” Her mum patted his chest. “Hermione, you can have the first go this time. Your father won’t say anything for five minutes.” _

_ “Five minutes!” _

_ Hermione sent her father a smug look before looking at the sky. He was saying something, but his words fell on deaf ears as a cluster of clouds came their way. She tilted her head to the side, certain she’d see a good shape with that much to work with. The wind started to pick up around them, the sun losing its shine slowly. Hermione swallowed as the clouds she was looking at shifted, first forming two circles and then a bony nose until the skull completed its shape.  _

_ She knew what would come next. _

_ Choking on a wave of fear, Hermione jumped to her feet, pulling on her father’s hand as she did. “We need to leave!” _

_ “Nonsense,” Richard replied. “It’s just a spot of bad weather. It’ll pass.” _

_ “Daddy, please.” Hermione locked eyes with her mum. “Mum, please trust me. I need to get you out of here. I can’t let them get you!” _

_ Helen looked at her sadly, reaching over so that her hand was over the one Hermione had on her father’s. Their fingers linked, the action always used to bring comfort. “Oh baby, they already did. But you knew that.” _

_ “What…” Hermione jerked her hand away, stumbling back a step from the calm acceptance on their faces. She looked around frantically as the world seemed to bleed in color, dripping down around her like paint on a canvas. She turned in circles, looking for anything that could tell her what was happening, but there was nothing. Even her parents were melting away right before her eyes. “No!” _

_ She was in the kitchen of her childhood home, heart pounding and head spinning. Everything looked as it should; dishes stacked on the drying rack, window open just a crack. The leftovers of whatever meal they’d just had would be boxed up in the fridge. She found the aging antique wall clock that had been passed down through her mother’s side. It was nearing the time her parents would be sitting down for tea on their off days. _

_ “Obliviate.” _

_ The words were her own, but Hermione hadn’t spoken. Sick to her stomach, she hesitantly walked to the entryway of the kitchen. There she was, dressed as if it was a normal day, beaded bag in hand. This other Hermione didn’t see her as she finished the spell, breath shaky as she pulled on her coat and walked out the door. This was the last time Hermione had seen her parents alive. _

_ They were still on the couch and would be for a bit as the spell settled in their minds. Hermione made her way over, kneeling in front of them and taking their hands. “I’m sorry,” she cried. The tears came with such force, her words were coming out with difficulty. “It was the only way, and I am so so sorry. I couldn’t tell you what was happening. You would have never let me go.” Sobbing, Hermione let her head fall onto her mother’s knee. “Merlin, I would give anything to see you again.” _

_ A hand settled on her hair, the familiar weight heavy on her head. Hermione jerked up, surprised to see her parents smiling down at her. “But you can see us, pumpkin,” her father said. “You already know how.” _

Hermione sat up in her bed, grief a heavy blanket over her. Her breath came out on a sob, her parent’s serene faces all too fresh in her mind. She curled into a ball on her side, letting her tears soak her pillow. Her heart was heavy. How was it that she’d been wishing for her parents and they’d appeared in a dream? Damn it, it wasn’t enough. She wanted them here, with her. They weren’t meant to be locked away in her memories.

_ You already know how. _

She fixed her eyes on the glamoured safe near her dresser. Hermione had made it look like a tall houseplant when she first moved in, warding it beforehand just in case Dolohov tracked her down. Now, as she focused on it, the illusion magic faded away. 

Hermione crawled off the bed, walking over to the safe and kneeling in front of it. She bit her lip, arguing with herself for a second about what she was doing. She shouldn’t be doing this. All her previous research into the stone had told her it was addictive. If she used it once, there was a chance she’d never stop.

Her parent’s face’s flashed in front of her, smiling and encouraging. 

Summoning her replacement wand, she gave it a look that meant  _ behave _ before going through the movements of dismantling her wards. The movements were precise and concentrated, starting at one point and flowing from one set to the next. She’d built the wards this way on purpose, putting a curse in place should the caster stop before the sequence was finished. The magic was in the grayer area of magic, not exactly legal but frowned upon in most cases. Knowing that only Dolohov would have a reason to breach this safe, Hermione had cast it without remorse.

When she was done, Hermione felt the wards dissipate. The safe opened with a click, the little door swinging back. 

The safe contained three things only. The book that had started it all was propped up against a corner, taking up a quarter of the inside. Next to it lay the stone, its black surface gleaming like a welcome beacon. Finally, laying on the opposite side of the book was her wand. Hermione grabbed that first, releasing a shaky breath as it warmed in her hand. She dropped her replacement, cradling her beloved vinewood to her chest. She relished the feel of the familiar wand against her skin, wishing she could carry it with her. 

She knew she couldn’t. She could be tracked if her wand was ever put under a tracking spell. It was the reason she’d gone for one on the black market and locked the vinewood away. 

Hermione reluctantly put her wand back in the safe, grabbing the stone and closing the door. She spun the dial on the lock until it landed on the number seven. Hermione felt the magic rise, her wards setting themselves back up until the safe resembled a plant once again. Turning away from it, she clutched the stone close to her chest and climbed back in bed. She opened her palm, staring down at the etched symbol on the black rock. 

All she’d need to do was turn it three times.

“Meow.”

Freya jumped onto the bed, bumping her head to Hermione’s arm. The Kneazle was purring, slowly making her way onto Hermione’s lap while rubbing her body against hers. 

Hermione scratched her behind one of her ears, the constant thrum of grief and need ebbing from a waterfall to a trickle. She took a deep breath, closing her palm into a fist. The stone’s edges poked her skin, but the slight pressure was enough for Hermione to calm herself down completely. 

Merlin, was she so desperate to see her parents that she’d risk using the very thing she was supposed to protect? It would seem so. If Freya hadn’t come along, Hermione would have turned the stone. She had no doubts that her mind had been made up to do it. They’d agreed for her to take the stone over the wand because she was the one out of the three of them that had the least temptation to use it. What a load of codswallop. 

Still, would it be so terrible for her to use it? Hermione was sure she could handle only using the stone once and locking it away again. She knew the dangers, to both herself and the spirits she summoned. A short period, a day at most, with her parents wouldn’t hurt either of them.

“Meow.”

Freya sat fully on Hermione’s lap, rubbing the top of her head under Hermione’s chin. The Kneazle’s tone demanded attention. She could feel the bond between them anchoring her, steadying her against the desire she could sense latching onto her. 

Sighing, Hermione dipped her head and pressed a quick kiss to the Kneazle’s head. “Thank you, Freya. I’m not sure what I was thinking.”

Yet, as she got ready for her day, Hermione pocketed the stone instead of putting it back in the safe. 

* * *

Hermione was jittery as she checked out customers. The store was busy today, perhaps the busiest she’d ever seen it for a weekday. Almost everyone that passed their door ended up turning around and coming in. It kept her behind the counter instead of in the aisles. She wasn’t able to relax, the hair on the back of her neck standing at attention. She couldn’t explain why she felt she was being watched, only that she was. Her magic was ready to strike defensively at a moment’s notice, the calm that had been drummed into her in Auror training nowhere to be seen.

The feeling stuck with her all day, her attitude distracted and short. Not that any of the store’s guests seemed to notice. There was a melancholy air in the store, some people roaming the shelves with no set destination in mind. She’d seen a few people leave the store sniffling and no one tried to make small talk with her at the counter. Of course, her irritable frame of mind could also be the reason. Hermione only hoped her boss didn’t decide to come in. She wasn’t sure she was up for pleasant chit chat.

She was scanning another set of books when the lady who was purchasing them suddenly gripped her hand.

“He’s watching you.”

Hermione yanked her hand out of the woman’s strong hold before the words were finished, her face turning down in a glare. “I beg your pardon.”

The woman was older, her face showing the deep lines of a long life. Hermione felt magic emanating off of her and was instinctively wary. Witches and Wizards lived longer lives than Muggles. For her appearance to match that of an aging grandmother meant she’d indeed lived at least a full century. “I saw him, dearie. You’ve piqued his interest. That was foolish.”

Hermione glanced around the store, eyes landing on each person in her view. None of them were outright paying attention to her. She looked out the display window but only saw the passing shoppers going about their day. One person stopped, seemed to hunch his shoulders and stare at the ground before turning around and walking into the shop. That definitely hadn’t been the first time that happened in the last hour. Still, she saw no one overly interested in her, though her magic was still restless. Giving her attention back to the old crone, she finished ringing up her purchases. “You’re mistaken.” She tried not to snap the words out, but they fell from gritted teeth. 

The old woman merely raised a white brow, her eyes focusing just past her shoulder. “Not only foolish but closed off.”

With those parting words, she took her bagged books and left. Hermione spun around, feeling a chill run down her spine. There was nothing behind her, but she felt it, dark and foreboding. Her breath misted when it came out of her mouth, a chill enfolding around her. She squeezed her eyes shut, fist clenching behind her back. All she needed was the overwhelming feeling of despair and she’d be sure there was a dementor in the room.

“Ma’m?”

The feeling disappeared, leaving Hermione shuddering from the sudden warmth of the crowded bookstore. She felt her magic relax a bit, fatigue settling on her shoulders as she was able to really breathe for the first time since getting up this morning. Slowly, Hermione turned back around, spreading her fingers on the counter to keep them from closing again. She worked up a smile for the man that looked more than a little concerned and went about her job.

She was able to get through the rest of the day without incident, making a valiant effort to be more cheerful and personable. The store still held a depressing air, but she made it until closing time, succeeding in ushering out the last of her browsers only thirty minutes past. She was exhausted, her mind bogged down from earlier, and her heart heavy from her dream. A part of her, a big one, wanted to use the stone still safely tucked away in her pocket. The need had played through her mind all day, even now, keeping her distracted as she straightened up the kid’s shelves.

Perhaps that’s why she didn’t hear the jingle of the bell as someone came into the store.

Hermione felt something off too late. Her foot braced to pivot, her danger radar going off, as someone grabbed her mass of curly hair and pulled.

She cursed, bringing her hands up to grab at the hands pulling her. Her nails were too short to do anything, her attacker dragging her easily across the room. He threw her into the counter, crowing her against it and using one hand to wrench her head back, the other curling around her neck. “Where is it!” he yelled.

Hermione had a brief moment of feminine panic before her training kicked in. He was yelling in her face, spit flying from his mouth. His eyes were wide and harried, red line spanning across the white. He was larger than her, form tall and bulky, outweighing her by a good deal. He wasn’t outright choking her, but the threat was there, his thumb pressed against her wildly beating pulse. His grip on her hair was tight, the roots screaming in pain. But perhaps most importantly, he was Muggle. 

_ Muggle. Muggle. Muggle. _

She changed the words in her mind, viciously fighting her magic’s need to rise up and blast him back. By the time he was yelling again, Hermione had grounded herself, a calm spreading over her. 

His hand closed a little tighter on her throat, and she moved.

Hermione brought her knee up, catching him between his legs. The hand at her throat loosened as he howled, his other hand clutching her hair tighter and pulling her down. She cursed low and vicious sounds at the fresh wave of pain. He was angrily sobbing on the ground, calling her names as he laid his free hand protectively over his crotch. Hermione reached for his other hand, intending to grab hold of his little finger and try her best to break it, but he threw her against one of the bookcases.

He was on her before she could orient herself, both hands going to her throat, legs on either side of her. Hermione could vaguely hear him shouting questions at her, but her head was rushing from the hit. She had to tamp down hard on her instincts.  _ Muggle. Muggle. Muggle. _ She repeated the word in her mind, struggling to keep herself from using magic on him.

Pumping her legs, she brought her knees up against his back. He overbalanced, his body sliding up hers while his hands tensed around her neck in reaction. Hermione struggled against fighting for more air, crossing her arms over his forearms, and hooking her foot over his ankle. She weakly rolled to the left, finally escaping his constricting hold but flipping him over. She struck out with the palm of her hand to his chin, blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth as he bit his tongue.

Then Hermione was being pulled off of him and into lightly muscled arms. She smelled sultry perfume, heard a dog bark, and a familiar voice muttering low angry words.

“Stop,” a soft voice murmured when Hermione started to struggle. “You’re okay.”

The words didn’t help in the least, but the inescapable hold helped clear the haze from Hermione’s mind. She needed to be calm. She needed to think. She needed to get her bearings.

When her eyes focused, she saw Clint with his hands fisted in her attacker’s shirt. He’d lifted the man against the very counter she’d been thrown into. He was angry, his eyes hard as he pulled him forward a bit and banged him against it. Her attacker was bleeding from his nose now, the red fluid mixing from the dribble coming from his mouth and falling on his shirt. Lucky was next to her, growling low in his throat while pressing against her side.

“Clint.”

Hermione stilled when he whipped his head towards her. His eyes were cold fires, hard and unforgiving. She licked her lips as the tension in the room mounted. Her mind was trying to make sense of the attack, but she knew she needed to calm him down first. Somehow, she knew he’d kill without remorse if given the chance. She couldn’t say why that assumption came to mind, except she knew the look in his eyes. 

“Clint,” she repeated.

The man looked toward her at the sound of her voice, his body bracing. Clint didn’t give him the chance to do anything else, plowing his fist into his stomach and dropping him to the ground. He stalked towards her, jerking his head to the side once. “Nat.”

She was let go, only to be pulled into his arms. Hermione saw a black-clad redhead walk to the man and drag him up before Clint was kissing her. She immediately sagged against him, letting him control the kiss, feeling it was as much for his comfort as it was for hers. 

Lucky barked, the two slowly separating after a few more seconds. He looked her over, eyes darkening again when they stopped at her throat. “Bastard.”

Hermione lifted her hand to her throat, clearing it and feeling the pain of the action. “What are you doing here?”

Clint stared at her incredulously before letting out a strained chuckle and pulling her closer. “Only you would ask that like I came at a bad time. Christ, Hermione, who the hell is that guy?”

Hermione shrugged, finding it easy to lay her head on his chest and let him keep the full weight of her. “I have no idea.” She closed her eyes. “I suppose I should call the police.”

“Nat’s taking care of it,” Clint reassured her. “You’ve never seen him before today?”

“Not once.” She held back her wince when he ran a hand over her hair. “I was escaping on my own before you came along and played hero.”

He snorted, “Yeah, I saw that upper strike right before I lost my mind.”

Hermione could argue that he never did. His eyes had been full of rage, but his body had been cold and poised. He’d been in complete control of his actions

Somehow the police never came in and talked to her. They came, their flashing lights and sirens waking up the entire block, but they talked to the redhead the entire time. Hermione watched from the window, Lucky keeping himself pressed against her side like a guard dog. She grinned a bit when the woman kicked her attacker once before letting him be put into the police car. She didn’t know what was said to keep them from taking her statement, but she was grateful. She didn’t want an incident report with her name on it.

She tried to make sense of the attack. The man had asked for something, demanded it in such a tone that signaled a mental break. Only, he never specified what  _ it _ was. Was she a random target among all the shops in the area? Hermione’s gut said no, but she honestly couldn’t think of a thing he would want from her. 

Her hand drifted to the concealed pocket in her trousers. 

She rejected the idea as soon it came to mind. He was a  _ Muggle _ . He would be one of the last people on Earth who’d know about the stone. There had been no magic surrounding him indicating he was cursed or spelled. No, he’d been after something different. She simply didn’t know what.

Hermione was feeling more herself by the time the neighborhood quieted again. She ran a hand down Lucky’s flank, eyeing the two adults. She fell back on her manners, speaking to the redhead. “Hello. My name is Hermione.”

“Natasha,” she said. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Hermione blinked, pursing her lips as she looked at Clint. “I wish I could say the same.”

Clint dragged a hand through his hair. “Nat is a close friend of mine. We work together.” He grinned, his tone struggling for light but Hermione noticed how his eyes kept straying to her neck. “I figure since the first friend meeting went so well, a second one couldn’t hurt.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, but she cocked her head, gazing at Hermione appraisingly. “I saw some of your hair floating around here and there. The scene we walked in on was nearing its end wasn’t it?”

“Damn it,” Clint cursed. “I should have punched him harder.”

“Your girlfriend took care of that.”

“I kneed him in the bollocks first.” She grimaced as she touched her fingertips to her stinging head. “My mistake was not making sure he’d let go before I did it.”

Natasha came forward, inspecting Hermione’s head herself. “You want to go for the pinky next time-”

“It’s easily breakable and the weakest finger in the grip,” Hermione finished. She flushed when amused green eyes locked with hers. She shrugged. “A woman shouldn’t move to a big city without learning self-defense.” It was true, but Hermione didn’t mention that the defense was learned as a mandatory course during her Muggle portion of Auror training.

Natasha chuckled, “I like you. We’ll get together when we get back.”

She left them alone, walking to the nearest shelf and picking a book at random. Hermione raised a brow at Clint. “What’s going on?”

Clint sighed, “I have to leave for work. I only found out today.” He frowned. “We really need to get you a cellphone.”

Hermione walked back into his arms, circling her arms around his neck. “I’ll miss you. How long will you be gone.”

“A week at most.” He pushed her hair off her shoulder, letting his hands rest on her hips. “The thing is, my sitter isn’t available. My backup is going with me. Do you think you can watch Lucky until I get back?”

Hermione’s eyes lowered to the labrador that was panting happily next to them before lifting her eyes to Clint’s. “You want me to take your dog for a week, a dog who’s only just met me?”

“You share a love of pizza and me,” Clint smirked, his first genuine smile since he came to her rescue. “I’m sure the two of you will be fine.”

“Freya will kill him or me, or maybe you as you’re the owner.”

“Freya will be his best friend by the time I come back,” he challenged.

“I doubt it,” Hermione murmured. She looked down at Lucky again before sighing. “A week?”

Clint pressed a grateful kiss to her mouth, knowing agreement when he heard it. “You three will have a great time.” But his eyes clouded with worry as he lifted a hand to her throat. “Are you sure you’ll be alright? This neighborhood is usually safe, but…”

“Clint, I promise you, I’m fine.” She was. This wasn’t her first time being the subject of an attack on her person. “I’m more worried about how I’m going to explain our houseguest to Freya.” She brought her hands to his shoulders, sliding one up until it cupped his cheek. “Thank you for coming to my aid.”

Clint turned his head so that his mouth pressed against her palm. “Always.”

Hermione stood with Lucky as Clint and Natasha slid into a sleek black car, the redhead in the driver seat. She watched the car speed away into the night, dog supplies sitting next to the dog. She supposed it was fortunate for her that the statue was hard to break on this block because she wasn’t lugging it all up by hand. 

She looked down at the calm dog and thought about her Kneazle and the ambush she was about to receive. She sighed, “Well, come on then. There’s no use putting off the inevitable.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge shout out to S.Joan and thescarletphoenixx for their work on this story!

Kneazle and labrador stared at each other, the dog’s tail still for once. Hermione watched warily from her place in the kitchen, wondering how this latest standoff would turn out. She should have taken Clint up on his bet and put money down. Freya and Lucky were not friends, the poor dog had a scratch near his eye to prove it.

Hermione had brought the dog up to her flat, Lucky’s things floating behind them. Freya had been waiting on the couch, looking to all the world like a dozing cat unless you spotted the tail sharply swinging every few seconds. The Kneazle had lazily gotten to her feet, eyes locking with Hermione’s in greeting. In a normal instance, Freya would have jumped down from her perch and wound between Hermione’s legs. 

But she’d come to stiff attention when Lucky ran into the warmth of her flat, slitted eyes following him as he put his nose to the ground and started exploring.

By the time Hermione had finished acquainting them with each other, Freya had aimed for Lucky’s eyes no less than three times. Lucky on the other hand was just as determined to make a new friend, often curling up next to her familiar to nap. She’d been rather exhausted after the day’s events, falling into bed fully clothed without a care.

Half the week had passed since then, and while the animals had formed an extremely tentative truce, Hermione knew that one playful lunge from Lucky would set Freya off.

Hermione planned to take him to the park and run off some of his energy. She’d been a decent runner before leaving Britain, she hoped she hadn’t lost everything and could keep up with the overeager dog. She was dressed to leave already, merely finishing her tea before reaching for the harness she’d have to wrestle over Lucky. She’d prepared a backpack with his essentials; a small dish for water, treats, a spare leash, and poop bags. The single pocket at the top of her joggers was spelled shut, the bulge concealed. It contained her wand, her phone, and the stone.

Hermione’s morals were playing havoc with her mind. Time and time again, she’d tried to put the stone back in the safe. Each time she’d failed, her need to use it growing with each day. Her dreams were filled with her parents, of friends she’d lost during the war. And before the night was over she’d know they were gone and the dream was all she’d ever get. It was like a dam had broken, and all her repressed grief was coming to the forefront. It made her a poor companion, her temper a ticking bomb waiting for the right fuse. She constantly reminded herself that she was an Auror. She promised her Minister, her friends, that she’d keep the stone safe, not use it willy-nilly. 

It was the reminder of her oath that kept her from giving in to her heart’s desire. It was the  _ only _ thing, and just barely at that.

Hermione saw it before it happened, sighing as Lucky bounded up to Freya, tongue hanging out. Freya gave a fierce yowl, paw patting at his face. Lucky dodged, swooping in to give her a long lick up the face. Her Kneazle made another swipe, this time catching the dog at his ear. Lucky jumped back with a yelp, crashing into her coffee table and flipping it over with his weight. Hermione watched in resigned silence, vowing to dump Freya on Clint at the first opportunity and see how long his optimism lasted. Freya gave Hermione one enraged look before turning away in a huff and running to the bedroom. 

Shaking her head, Hermione grabbed the harness and knelt next to Lucky, his ears flat as she righted the table. She gently grabbed the side of his face so that she could look at the scratch and found it was barely even that. Either Freya hadn’t meant to harm him or Lucky was a nimble dog. She scratched him gently under his chin until his tail was wagging again. “I think we need to have a conversation on proper manners, my friend.”

Lucky licked her face, and Hermione took that to mean he agreed.

* * *

“You see, that’s why you need to be careful with a lady like Freya.” Hermione took a pepperoni off of her pizza and flicked it Lucky’s way. He stretched his body up slightly, catching the piece of meat in his mouth. “As a magical creature, she has above average intelligence. We should all be grateful she can’t actually use magic.”

They’d finished their run through one of the park’s trails, and Hermione had rewarded them with pizza from the same place Clint had taken her to before. He’d eaten three slices by himself, simply tearing into them from the park bench they were at and had guzzled half the water Hermione set beside him. It hadn’t been too bad, running with Lucky. She wasn’t as in shape as she should be, but she’d been able to keep up with him. It helped that he wasn’t the type to pull on his restraint and bolt like some dogs were wont to do. 

“Of course,” Hermione continued. “I’m not sure she hates you as much as she puts off.” She raised a brow as he nudged her hand, relenting and throwing him another pepperoni. “I saw the two of you curled up together when I woke up this morning.”

She wondered how Clint was doing with his job, curious about Natasha and her status in his life. They’d seemed close, displaying the behavior of comfortable partners. Hermione knew that type of relationship would take time to build. They must have known each other for a while. Yet, Natasha gave off a distinctly dangerous aura. She sometimes felt this with Clint though her magic never reacted negatively to him, and it felt like he repressed that side of himself when he was with her. Natasha didn’t even try. 

He hadn’t repressed himself a few days ago, she mused. Hermione fully believed he would have killed the man who attacked her if given the chance. She didn’t know what happened to her attacker either, only that Natasha had spoken to the police and Hermione had been left alone. Having studied Muggle procedure in the Auror academy so they could take care of all aspects of a magical incident left unattended and in Muggle hands, she knew she should have at least been interviewed. Days later, the fact she hadn’t sent up flags in her mind. She hadn’t pushed Clint for a deeper explanation of his job, but Hermione knew security could mean anything.

She wasn’t so far removed from her heritage that she didn’t know influential agencies existed around the world. The kind of pull they showed on the night of her attack stunk of a higher authority, the government agency kind. He didn’t wear the flashy suits most government officials did, but not all agents did. He had the confidence down pat and the arrogance. Hermione wasn’t sure what she wanted to do with her theory. How could she go about asking him without him being suspicious of how she’d recognize his type in the first place? 

She was only Hermione to him, the girl who had taken over the running of a local bookshop.

“Kotyonok.”

The voice was deep, raspy, and right in her ear.

Hermione was up, wand summoned to her palm, and turning on her heel within moments. Lucky had gone to attention, looking around, occasionally looking back up at her. 

Hermione stared at the spot behind her. No one was there. There’d been no magic behind her that indicated silent apparating, no crack, or blue light of a portkey. She edged around the bench, saw no evidence of shoe indents in the grass. Hermione swallowed, hand itching to touch the stone in her pocket for reassurance it was still there, but she didn’t dare. If Dolohov was here, watching her, her actions would be a dead giveaway. 

She circled her head, making it seem like she was stretching out as she glanced around. There were too many Muggle’s in the area for her to use any spells that might reveal he’d been there, or where he’d gone if he’d done it by foot. If she left it until dark, when the parks officially closed for the night, he’d have enough time to erase his existence from the area. 

Unless he left it there on purpose. That would be the only reason she found anything. He’d do it too, just to mess with her. Damn Russian bastard.

The best thing would be to go home and lock up the stone, redo the wards to both her flat and the safe. Moral difficulties or not, she couldn’t leave the stone without the best protection in her arsenal if Dolohov was on her tail. Then she needed to call Kingsley.

Hermione made herself act normal; picking up the trash she and the dog had accumulated, letting him guzzle the rest of his water before packing it up. Lucky wasn’t on edge which helped Hermione relax just a bit. If the dog couldn’t sense something off with the area, then Dolohov wasn’t as close as she thought. Then again, he could have adapted a cloaking spell to avoid detection by animals.

Frustrated with her paranoia, she took the leash and got the hell out of there.

* * *

Hermione forced her hand to reach into her pocket and take out the stone. Her heart ached at the thought of locking it up again. It knew that she wouldn’t remove it unless absolutely necessary. With Dolohov possibly in the city, her desires did not make the cut. 

It took effort to place the rock between her wand and the book. She felt almost compelled to open the safe back up when she’d locked it, but she was able to ignore it by shoring up her mind. She needed the shields to go through the painstaking process of undoing the previous wards on the safe for good and setting new ones. 

When it was done, Hermione sat with her back against the bed, heart a little lighter with the stone out of temptation’s way. Maybe that was what she needed, to make the decision not to use it. Her chest still ached something fierce, a residual pain she used to get when she thought of her parents in the months after their deaths. She’d managed that hurt, and she could do so again.

Now, she needed to make a phone call.

Taking the phone out of her pocket, she flipped it open and went to the only number programmed in. Her finger hovered over pressing the button that would dial it. Should she call? Her training told her yes. She needed to alert her Minister to the fact that Dolohov may be out of the country, on her tail. Yet, she had no proof. All she had at this point was his voice in her ear. Kingsley would take her at her word, he’d believe her. But he’d also order her home. 

Home. Hermione wanted nothing more than to see home.

Clenching her jaw, she flipped the phone’s cover to close it. Unless she had solid proof that Antonin Dolohov had figured out her location, Hermione knew she couldn’t call. She’d be essentially crying wolf. No one would see it that way, but she knew that’s what it would be. She’d go back home under orders, and place two Hallows in the same vicinity of each other. Not to mention the nightmare of alerting MACUSA of an English fugitive on the loose in their territory. She didn’t want to think about that political nightmare. 

Freya yowled, a crash sounding a moment later followed immediately by Lucky’s barks. Hermione shook her head at the two before going to see what was going on. There was nothing she could do about Dolohov at the moment. If he wanted to play mind games with her, she was damn well ready for it. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge shout out to S.Joan and thescarletphoenixx for their work on this story!

“Knock. Knock.”

Hermione looked up from the box of books she was inventorying, eyeing Clint as he leaned against the door jamb. She hadn’t heard the bell above the shop’s door jingle from the back room. Lucky leaped up from his snooze by Hermione, running to Clint and almost knocking him to the ground in his excitement. The sight was _almost_ enough to melt her annoyance with the two of them, especially as Lucky had secretly grown on her. 

Still. One week had turned into two with no word whatsoever. As she thought about it more, she found she had more irritation piled up than feminine softness for man and his best friend. So she went back to her list, picking up where she left off from the box in front of her.

She heard Clint praise Lucky, asking him all sorts of questions. Had he been a good boy? Did he like staying with Hermione? Were he and Freya friends now? Had he gorged himself on pizza? Hermione rolled her eyes at that one. If he noticed the faint scratch marks here and there on his dog, he didn’t say anything. 

She didn’t stop writing a note about a damaged paperback when Clint bent and kissed her on the top of her head. “How was your trip?”

“I did my job,” he answered. “Lucky behave with you?”

“He and Freya have entered tolerant housemate status. How’s Natasha? I liked her.”

Clint chuckled, sitting next to her on the floor and sending a confused glance her way. She still hadn’t looked at him. “She liked you too. She’s doing fine, upset because she had another engagement she had to cancel.”

Hermione made a noise in her throat, one of sympathy. “I hate when that happens.”

“Yeah, it was unavoidable. We don’t exactly have timelines when we’re on assignment.”

They were assignments now. Hermione mentally shook her head at herself for ever thinking he worked as a security guard. “These trips can extend without notice.” She spared him a single arched look, eyebrow raising. “That’s good to know.”

Clint visibly winced, his hand making a pass through his hair. “So that’s what you’re mad about.”

“Not mad,” Hermione amended. “Irritated. The shop has an answering service, and I’m the only employee as of late. It’s as good as a mobile.”

Clint opened his mouth before he shook his head and admitted, “I honestly didn’t think of it. I had other things on my mind, and I knew Lucky was in good hands.”

Hermione hadn’t been expecting that. She shook her head, sighing as she finally set the clipboard aside and faced him. “Well, at least you’re honest. Lucky was a good boy.” She gave the dog an affectionate rub when he sat near her. “He didn’t win any awards with Freya, but he’s a supreme cuddler.”

Clint snorted, speaking to Lucky now while scratching him behind his ears. “Making time in my girl’s bed before I do. How do you get all the luck?”

“Clint!” Hermione let out a surprised laugh, her tone trying for scolding but failing. 

He shrugged. “It’s true.” His easy demeanor dropped, his lips turning down. “I’m glad to see you both though. Do you mind if we get take-out and hang on your couch? I want to spend time with you, but I don’t want to be in crowds tonight.”

He did look tired, eyes slightly red from strain. Hermione lifted a hand to his cheek. “Rough time?”

Clint shrugged again, his tone deliberately nonchalant. “Some things didn’t go according to plan, but we adapted.”

Hermione didn’t push, though she recognized this was the most open Clint had been about his job. Instead, she took his hand in hers, standing and bringing him with her. “I have a break coming. Let’s get you settled in my flat and I’ll pick something up when the shop closes.”

“You don’t have to,” Clint protested. He let her drag him by the hand through the back room and through the bookcases. “If you give me the key, I can settle myself in.”

Hermione thought of her wards, keyed only to allow herself entry. She thought of Freya, who may see Clint and give him her opinion of his dog in a not so friendly manner. Last, she thought of the small cauldron waiting to be properly scrubbed, and the potion residue coating its bottom from her earlier brewing. She smiled up at him, reaching up to press a chaste kiss on his cheek. “I want to. Let me take care of you, please?”

Clint studied her for a minute before giving her his grin. “If you insist.”

* * *

Hermione snuggled into Clint’s chest as he dozed on the couch. Empty Chinese containers littered the coffee table, the telly tuned to a channel that had been adult cartoons but was now showing advertisements. Clint was softly snoring above her. He’d fallen asleep in her bed earlier, but he hadn’t lasted long after eating, the food sending him straight back into resting. Lucky was snoring on his stomach next to the couch, while Freya was still ignoring them in another room. 

She was comfortable where she was at, her head pillowed on Clint’s bicep, but she supposed they should move to the bed soon. While she had no qualms about sleeping on the couch, she was sure he would wake up with back pain in the morning. 

Tonight had been nice, staying in with the added pleasure of not needing to make herself presentable enough to go out. She enjoyed the dates she had with Clint, but the social scene had never been Hermione’s thing. Right now, with her body resting in the crook of his chest and arm, and his other arm wrapped snuggly around her, she was the most relaxed she’d been in a while. She was content, and she decided they could snooze here a little longer.

The ringing of the phone woke her later. Clint was still asleep, his head now buried in her hair. Hermione nudged him half-heartedly before closing her eyes. He didn’t wake up. The ringing continued, and Hermione woke more fully, wondering how he could sleep through that wailing ringtone.

She sat upright when she saw Lucky still sprawled on his front, not bothered by the noise. That dog perked up at the first shrill of a phone or any loud noise, really.

A moment later, when she wondered why Clint’s caller hadn’t been directed to voicemail already, Hermione realized the sound was coming from her head. It was an echoing ring, like the dial-up phones of old. Hermione knew the mobile phone she’d kept hidden away was finally being used. How genius of Kingsley to charm the device that way, and annoying.

Running her fingers through Clint’s hair once more, and assured he was still deeply asleep, Hermione quickly made her way to her room and locked herself in the bathroom. She took the flip phone out of her pocket, watching the light glow with the incoming call. _Kings_. 

She opened it, pressing the phone to her ear. “Kingsley?” 

“Mione… Merlin, it’s good to hear your voice.”

“Harry,” Hermione gasped. Tears filled her eyes at his voice. He sounded tired and relieved, but it was her Harry. “What are you doing with this phone? I know Kingsley didn’t just give it to you.”

“I broke into the Minister’s house,” Harry admitted. “He didn’t want to call you and I didn’t like that answer. He’s here now, shaking his head in exasperation and pretending I didn’t just commit a felony.”

Hermione wanted to roll her eyes, but a part of her was worried. What couldn’t wait that he’d had to ambush Kingsley at home mere hours before the man would have been at his desk at the Ministry? “Of course you did. What are a few laws when it comes to getting what you want?”

“See? People seem to forget that.” Harry’s voice took on a serious edge, his next words sending tension through Hermione like a lightning bolt had hit her. “Ron’s been attacked.”

Hermione pushed down the shock, her free hand gripping the sink. “Is he alright? Was it Dolohov? Does the family know?”

“He’s fine, Hermione,” Kingsley called out.

“It wasn’t Dolohov,” Harry informed her. “I got a bead on the bastard a few weeks ago, lost him for a few days, and then picked up his trail again. He’s been running all over the bloody UK.”

Her heart beat furiously in her chest. Dolohov couldn’t have been spotted by Harry at the same time she thought he was in the States. His voice that day at the park had been her imagination after all. “Be careful, Harry. You run him to the ground enough, he may decide to make a last stand.”

“And he’ll encounter the fury of the Boy-Who-Lived the day he does,” Harry vowed. “Then maybe you two can come home and I don’t have to keep changing the subject every time the pair of you come up.”

She heard the grievance and the underlying pain beneath it. She missed them too, so much. “What happened with Ron?”

“What else?” Harry shot back bitterly. “The wand is starting to draw the wrong sorts to his location. Not that he’ll tell us where that’s at. He says it’s only been a few times so far, but he thinks he’ll need to move locations soon.”

“How can that be?” Hermione demanded. “He’s supposed to be keeping the damn thing in a safe with wards only he knows the sequence to. Part of the design for his was to keep the compulsion of the wand at bay.”

“It didn’t work. He hasn’t taken the wand out. They’ve broken into his place trying to get it.”

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose, letting out a long sigh. “That’s a problem. He can’t just start hopping around from place to place to avoid being set upon. I can do some research into better-”

“This isn’t for you to figure out,” Kingsley said sternly. “Ron is a capable Auror who will find a way to adapt. This line is supposed to be used for emergencies only.”

“Yes Sir,” Hermione and Harry mumbled together.

“You’re doing alright?” Harry asked quietly. “With Ron being attacked, I needed to make sure you were okay.” He chuckled, “We both know you wouldn’t have called if you needed help until the last possible second.”

Hermione thought about the dreams, her desire to use the stone, Dolohov’s voice in her head. They’d want to know. She didn’t mention any of that. Instead, she licked her lips, shuffling farther into the bathroom. She sat on the side of the bathtub. “I have a boyfriend.”

“Oh,” Harry responded, “Muggle?” He sounded taken aback, his voice coming out quieter as he asked.

“Oh yeah, completely.” She shifted in her seat, not wanting to examine why confessing anything about her life made her feel guilty. “How’s everyone? I saw a picture of you in the Prophet. Another boy, Harry, I bet he has your hair already.”

Harry’s tone shifted to enthusiastic. “He does, it drives Ginny barmy. We’ve named him Albus Severus Potter. James is fascinated by him.”

Hermione winced. “What a lovely name. I can’t wait to meet him.” Oh Merlin, how had Harry persuaded Ginny into that? 

“I knew you’d get it,” Harry kept on happily. “It took a lot of persuasion on my part to get Ginny to consent, and the rest of the family keep giving me pitying looks. Ron choked on his own spit, the git.”

Hermione slapped a hand to her mouth to keep from laughing too much. She cleared her throat. “Well, I’ve known you since we were kids. I have your line of thinking down to a science at this point.”

Harry didn’t say anything for a moment, but then he sighed, “I’m sorry, Mione. Kingsley wants us to hang up now. Something about the anti-tracking charm on this thing wearing off soon.”

Hermione fought to speak over the sudden lump in her throat, her eyes filling again. “I understand. It was good to hear your voice.”

“Yours too.”

She pressed the palm of her hand against one of her eyes, fighting the sting with pressure. “I love you. Please be safe.”

“I love you too,” Harry choked out.

She slapped the phone closed right after, unable to keep herself from crying. She clutched the phone to her chest, her only link to the life she desperately wanted. Would it be so bad for them to return home? They could find a way to keep the Hallows safe together. They could track down Dolohov together. They’d defeat him and his band of rogue Death Eaters together. Everything they’d accomplished had been done together, damn it. Why couldn’t this be one more thing?

A firm knock sounded on the door. “Hermione?”

Hell. Wiping at her eyes frantically, Hermione stuffed the phone back in her pocket before opening the door. Clint was running a hand through his rumpled hair, but his eyes were alert. They shot to her leaking eyes, his mouth turning down in a frown. “What’s wrong?”

“Just a nightmare,” Hermione told him, the lie slipping easily from her mouth. “One that won’t seem to end.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, but he pulled her into his arms. “I’ve got you. Let’s get you into bed.”

Hermione let him undress her, pulling his own shirt over his head and putting it over hers. It smelled like him, the material too big and long for her body. Clint tugged her onto the bed, settling them in the middle and wrapping his arms around her. Hermione sighed, the tight confines a comfort. Soon, she found herself drifting off into sleep. 

  
  



	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge shout out to S.Joan and thescarletphoenixx for their work on this story!

Hermione was purchasing some ingredients for her potions supply when she felt it. The warning wailed across her mind, a clamoring roar that seeped through her magic. Someone was trying to force themselves through her wards. There was no finesse, no tact. She could feel her wards doing their job, but the person’s sheer willpower was getting them through. Only a demented psychopath could ignore the blistering pain they’d be receiving from her defenses in order to break in. She needed to get back, now.

She twirled her wand, pivoting on her heel as she tried to apparate. 

Nothing happened.

She tried again, glaring down at her wand when she got the same result. “Now is  _ not _ the time for this.”

“You won’t be able to apparate if that’s what you’re trying to.”

Hermione’s head shot up to the clerk. “I’m sorry?”

He gestured to her wand. “Apparating. It’s not allowed in Liberty Lane, or anywhere in the United States. During that whole business in the UK, MACUSA banned free apparating in case sympathizers tried to take a page out of the English book and do the same types of attacks here.”

That would have been bloody good to know before. Shooting the clerk a short nod, Hermione left her ingredients on the counter and dashed out of the shop. The wards had stopped shrieking as loudly, forcefully broken. She kept her wand out, pushing through people as she raced for the entrance. She didn’t apologize to any of the Witches and Wizards she bumped into. A large group was coming through the curtain, their faces glowing with the excitement of teenagers on a free day. Hermione prepared herself to slow down for a minute and weave her way through the veritable wall of bodies.

Another set of bellows started ringing through her mind, another set of wards, these reactionary and fiercely warning as they were blasted by magic. The safe. Someone was trying to get into the safe.

She flung her hand out at the group, sending them crashing against the walls to clear her path. She ran past them and into the alley amidst their cries of shock.

Hermione could see that her door was wide open, a red-stained spot in between the front and back. Even through the pain of the wounds her wards had inflicted on them, they’d pressed forward. Hermione swung herself around the railing of her stairs, racing up the steps two at a time. She burst into the exposed flat, wand trained in front of her, hand ready at her side. She gave a cursory glance around the room before sprinting to her bedroom, assured there weren’t more laying in wait.

Hermione stopped in her tracks, wand lowering to the ground.

The man wasn’t Antonin Dolohov, but she was only sure because his hair was a dark blond. He was laying face down, wand in an outstretched hand pointed towards the safe. Bad burns covered his entire body, his skin a mess of blistering puss and blood. She crouched down next to his body, pressing two fingers to his neck. He was breathing, but barely. His face was littered with cuts, red liquid leaking from every opening. Her wards had done a number on him. Hermione knew he was in bad shape when she saw liquid slowly trickling from his ears.

Healing him was beyond her scope of ability, she didn’t know all the spells needed to keep him alive. Yet, she couldn’t call the Auror’s. He’d broken into her place and went straight for the safe. There was no doubt what he’d been after. He was sure to die if he didn’t get treated, and every second she wasted debating what to do was a second he didn’t have. She needed him alive. She wouldn’t be able to find out how he’d known about the stone or if he was working for Dolohov if he died.

Hermione closed her eyes as her thoughts came to halt. Was she hearing herself? Why was she contemplating whether to let this man live or die? No matter the consequences she needed to remember what she stood for. And the first thing she needed to do was get him help, now.

Standing, Hermione lifted his body with magic, concentrating on the location of St. David’s. She’d blind apparated a few times as an Auror, but the after-effects were never pretty. The headache pounded against her head immediately, her body swaying from the backlash of her decision. She heard shocked exclamations and running feet. Hermione swallowed, the small ball of saliva tasting like blood. “I found him outside in an alley. He needs medical attention.”

The man was levitated away from her, and Hermione let him go without a fight. A Mediwitch stood in front of her, a concerned frown taking over her face. “We’ll need to get some information from you. Are you alright?”

That wasn’t going to happen. The lights were starting to blind her, her eyes physically hurting from the glow. “Is there a place I can get some water? Finding him… it was such a shock.”

The Mediwitch nodded, laying a hand on her arm to steer her away from the waiting area. “Of course. There’s a dispenser in the break room. Get something to drink and then come back and find me.”

Hermione smiled at her. “Thank you.” She headed to the room indicated, running a hand through her hair. When the Mediwitch turned her back, Hermione changed direction, heading to the open exit of the hospital. As soon as she was outside, she turned into the area between buildings and apparated from the shadows.

She landed inside her living room, her head spinning. Bloody blind apparition, it was never a good idea. Hermione stumbled to the door and slammed it shut. She needed to reapply the wards, but her headache was entering migraine status. She couldn’t concentrate on the proper incantations or wand movements. There were a number of things she needed to do. She needed to check on the safe, make absolutely sure it wasn’t successfully breached. She needed to call Kingsley and let him know what happened. She needed to take a freaking pain potion. She needed to find Freya.

She slid to the ground, back to the door, and closed her eyes as darkness overtook her.

* * *

Frantic pounding at her door woke her. She was disoriented, head fuzzy as she looked around her living room. There was a phantom pain in her heart, Hermione rubbing a hand over her chest in consternation. The fist on the door was beating against the door repeatedly, further adding to the confusion of her current position.

“Hermione! Hermione, answer me!”

Clint. Hermione used the couch as leverage to pull herself up. She opened the door wearily, blinking when he scooped her up in his arms. “Clint?”

He pulled back to look at her, his eyes assessing her as they ran over her body. “Are you okay?”

He looked concerned and angry, and Hermione wondered what was going on. Then she remembered what happened earlier, and noticed the day was approaching night. Oh no, how long had she been out? But she was still confused as Clint wouldn’t know about anything that happened. “I’m not feeling good,” she answered truthfully.

“It’s okay. The police have already been called.” Clint shook his head. “I swear, this neighborhood never saw much criminal action until now.” His eyes looked into hers with sympathy. “I’m sorry.”

Hermione blinked, feeling like she was missing something important. Why would the police be heading over? “Clint, I don’t know what you’re talking about. What’s going on?” She grimaced. “Was the store broken into?”

Clint’s face closed off, his concerned frown dipping down into a confused scowl. “You don’t know…”

It had to be the store. Hermione rushed past Clint, meaning to race down the steps. He caught her arm before she could leave him. “You don’t want to go down there.”

Hermione glared at the hand. “Let go, Clint. My owner is an aging old woman who doesn’t need to deal with the police over a break-in or vandalism.” When he only tightened his hold, she yanked her arm from his grasp, racing down the steps the same way she’d rushed up only hours ago.

Hermione stopped when she rounded the corner, bile rising up her throat. “Freya!”

Her heartbroken scream was accompanied by her knees buckling, but Clint caught her in his arms before they could hit the pavement. She clung to the forearms holding her, nails biting into his skin. Curious- _ nosy _ -people were lining the street but she didn’t see them over her tunnel vision. Her breath came out in hard exhales, the broken familiar bond the phantom pain in her chest.

Freya’s face was set in a furious yowl, slitted eyes clouded over. Her stomach was sliced open, insides thrown across the pavement in front of her body. Above her on the door, the symbol for the Hallows was drawn in dripping red. Hermione’s eyes caught petals of red and pink scattered around them, white shapes almost invisible on the dirty ground. She swallowed hard at the significance. 

He’d found her after all.

The police came, and this time she had to talk to them. She lied to them entirely. No, she didn’t know who’d done this. She didn’t have any enemies who wished her harm. Carnations and clovers had no significant meaning to her. She’d never seen the symbol on the glass door in her life. They didn’t push her too hard, their attitudes clearly showing sympathy and patience for the victim. Clint stayed with her through it all, perhaps another buffer between her and their pressing need to find a clue as to what happened. Her boss was informed, the shop would need to be closed until they cleared the scene. 

Hermione let them think she was in shock. In a way, she was. She hadn’t had Freya long, but it’d been long enough to form a solid bond between them. The Kneazle’s only crime had been setting her sights on Hermione and insisting they belonged together. She’d died as a message from Dolohov. He’d never bothered with animals before unless they were in the way. 

The bastard was playing with her. How long had he known she was here? How  _ had _ he known her location? No one else knew, on purpose as to not reveal her under any circumstances. She’d been so careful. She’d even put her wand away and had gotten one that was clearly not her match.

Her wand…

Hermione closed her eyes, finally giving in to the need to bury her face in her palms. Clint’s arms tightened around her, his murmured words a mere vibration in her ear. Her wand. She’d opened the safe and picked up her wand. The rush of recognition after being parted for all those months would have alerted any spell used to track it. After that, it wouldn’t have mattered that it was safely back under wards. She hadn’t moved and therefore its location was known. Antonin must have cast it as soon as she disappeared from society. It was an old Auror ritual, outdated and mostly obsolete as one needed Minister or Wizengmont permission to do it, but that wouldn’t stop him.

She would need to leave. She’d come to feel at home in this little spot in the states. She’d been carving out a reputation, becoming a regular fixture in the community that protected Liberty Lane just by living here. She’d made friends, and she’d started to see a little girl as a potential academic she’d wanted to help flourish. Clint. 

None of that mattered. She’d have to start over someplace new, possibly in a new country. Her heart rejected the thought of leaving Clint, he’d become an important part of her life. She was afraid she’d fallen more than halfway in love with him. What a time to realize her feelings ran that deep.

She was brought out of her thoughts when Clint spoke to her again. “Come on. Let’s get you upstairs. You’ll pack some things and come to my place.”

Hermione looked back at her Kneazle’s ripped up body as he led her away from the scene. “Freya…”

Clint sighed, “I’ll take care of it, baby.”

She lowered her eyes to the ground, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other in order to walk up the stairs. “She didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know,” Clint grit out. “Whoever did this won’t get away with it.”

But he already had. Freya was dead, Dolohov was in the wind, and the stone was no longer safe. 

  
  



	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge shout out to S.Joan and thescarletphoenixx for their work on this story!

Hermione never got the chance to go to Clint’s flat.

She knew she needed to disappear, and she needed to do it as soon as possible. She’d been trying to work up the courage to Obliviate him when there was a knock on the door. Hermione’s stomach dropped out from under her. Her nausea increased when Clint opened the door and two smartly dressed people were waiting on the other side. All Hermione could do was stand by and watch as the Wizard drew his wand and waved it over Clint. Then Clint was kissing her goodbye and promising to stop by tomorrow and take her out for lunch.

She crossed her arms over her chest, blocking the way to her room by leaning against the door jamb. She didn’t offer the American Auror’s refreshment or a place to sit. The three of them sized each other up, their hard stares matching.

Finally, the Wizard took a seat on the couch, the Witch following after. He kept his tone hard as he spoke. “Let’s not bullshit each other. You know why we’re here.”

Hermione shrugged. “What I do know is that you’ve illegally used magic on my Muggle boyfriend. Other than that, I can’t say what your purpose is.”

The Witch leaned forward, her eyes filled with a challenging light. “Your name is Hermione Granger; Order of Merlin First Class, and British Auror. You falsified your registration papers and never applied for a wand permit, both are crimes in this country. Your place of residence was protected by wards of the darker variety, and those wards were broken earlier today by an American Wizard who now fights for his life at St. David’s. Your familiar, who was duly registered to you, was slaughtered today as well and the suspect left behind a well-known sign connected with Gellert Grindelwald.” She lifted a brow as she sat back. “Need we go on?”

Neither was here to play the nice and sympathetic Auror. Hermione should feel flattered they thought her a threat enough to go at her hard, but all she could feel was another headache coming on. She sighed, lifting herself from her position at the door. “Do you mind if I take a pain potion? I’ve had enough headaches today to last me a while.”

“We do mind,” the male Auror replied. “Our President is concerned. You’ve broken laws to stay here undetected. Your Ministry did not contact ours to inform us in any way that you were moving here, possibly operating here. We don’t need Britain’s mess falling down on our citizens.”

Hermione kept her face impassive. “Your citizens won’t come to harm from me.”

“They already have,” the fact was pointed out. “The man in critical condition would argue that point.”

She scoffed, shaking her head. “He broke into my flat, bulldozing through my  _ legal _ wards with brute force and will. I wasn’t even home.”

“What are you doing here in the United States.”

“I’m taking a sabbatical from work.”

“Why did you register under false pretenses?”

Hermione shrugged. “My life is under a constant microscope, you know. It comes with the territory of being a war heroine. I didn’t want any type of press to catch wind of it.”

The Auror’s shared a look. “Do you really expect us to believe that?” The Witch shook her head. “We’re not dumb, Granger. You were a rising star in your government, and you decide you need a break? You didn’t take one after your war was over, or when your parents were found murdered.”

“Stalking my life now, are you?” Hermione countered. “I didn’t know MACUSA was so interested in my apparent behavior.”

“MACUSA takes an avid interest in any being that might be a threat, foreign and domestic.”

“I guess I should be flattered,” she said drolly. “Look, you’re building assumptions out of nothing. Slap me with the fines that come with my identity misdemeanors, and I’ll file a report about the man who broke into my flat. It’s been a taxing day for me, and all I really want to do is go to sleep.”

The Witch sighed before she got up. She waved her wand and a paper appeared in her palm. She walked over and handed it to Hermione. “We’d hoped you’d cooperate, Auror to Auror.”

Hermione scowled as she read it. It was a warrant, signed by the President of MACUSA, to search her flat and the store. She glared at them, subtly shifting so that she blocked her door again. “What the hell is this? What could possibly permit the government to find a legal way to search the places I frequent. The bookshop doesn’t even belong to me, it’s Muggle owned.”

The male Auror rose from the couch. “Over a short period of time, there have been increases in gray magic in this building. People have come away feeling grief-stricken, depressed.” He paused, his eyes stopping on her face. “A few have committed suicide recently. We’ve investigated those that did, and this was the only place in common.”

The other Auror tried to suppress a shudder but failed. “There’s definitely something here. I felt it as soon as we closed the door.”

The dots clicked for Hermione, her mouth thinning. They were talking about the stone. She couldn’t think of anything else that could possibly affect people the way it had been. But there hadn’t been any mentions of the stone influencing people the way the Elder Wand did, was there? Hermione didn’t have the answers, wasn’t likely to get them while dealing with the Americans. The one thing she did know was that she couldn’t let them get their hands on the stone or the book.

She kept hold of the warrant, begrudgingly extending an invitation to her kitchen. “You were hoping for my cooperation for something? We can chat about it over tea.” She waved her hand as they entered, flame lighting and kettle filling with water. They took a seat at the table, silent while the tea prepared itself. 

“You’re being awfully inviting now.”

Hermione shrugged. “There’s no point in the three of us antagonizing each other forever. We’re all trained in the same things. We work toward the same goal.” She held out her hands so that the mug could land safely in her hands, cup feeling good on her chilled fingers. She took the first sip to steady herself. “You already know who I am, but let’s start from the beginning. I’m Auror Hermione Granger, British Ministry of Magic.”

“Auror Felicity Channing,” the Witch said. She took a drink of the tea, eyes widening as she lowered the cup. “That’s strong.”

“Almost as good as coffee,” the male Wizard grunted. “Auror William Jones. We’re attached to MACUSA’s field office here in DC.” 

“Let me say first that my country has no ill intentions with the magical community of the United States,” Hermione said carefully. 

“You’re still here under false pretenses,” Jones pointed out. “There’s no use bullshitting us about this. A government official from another country doesn’t enter foreign land illegally for nothing.”

“I’m not a government official.”

“But you were going to be,” Channing said. She kept her eyes level with Hermione’s as she spoke. “You were on the fast track to a big promotion. Our sources indicate, given another ten or so years, you’d be leading magical Britain. Tell us, Auror Granger, what is so important that you’d give all that up to work in a bookstore.”

Hermione shrugged. “Maybe I wanted a change. I’m young and all this responsibility has been heaped on me. I’ve heard the rumors and speculation too. Do you know how daunting it is to realize people expect you in the top position before your 40th birthday? I needed to be somewhere where my name means nothing for a change.”

Channing’s expression changed to one of disappointment. “Is that really the answer you’re sticking to?”

Jones ran a hand through his hair, frustration on his face. “Look, we all know we’ll find something if we execute that warrant.”

Hermione glanced again at the legalized document in her possession. She spoke quietly, “I can’t let you do that.”

There was a tense silence. Hermione had essentially confirmed without saying anything that she was in possession of something MACUSA would be interested in. She’d also just made it clear that she’d fight them if they tried anything. It was a two versus one situation, but all three were trained Auror’s, some with more experience than others. The fight wouldn’t be handled quietly. 

Finally, Hermione leaned back in her chair with a sigh, shooting back the rest of her drink in one shot. Kingsley would never forgive her if she brought trouble down on them officially. “I know you want something. You’d have served your warrant without trying to intimidate answers out of me otherwise. You need leverage against me, but you’ve been ordered to be discreet. What does your government want with mine?”

“Not your government,” Jones corrected. “You.”

“Me,” she intoned. 

“Our citizens lead a freer life than other governments. We pride ourselves on advancing as a society, of being able to realistically live in both worlds. Yet, when you live as we do, someone is bound to notice, No-Maj someones.”

“That’s what the statute is for,” Hermione pointed out. 

Jones shook his head. “It’s no longer working. Large alphabet type agencies know about us unofficially. Our President and staff have been able to keep relations friendly for now, but one of the acronyms is pressing for a gesture of goodwill.”

“SHIELD,” Channing said. “The Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division. Their home base is here in the States but they effectively operate everywhere. They want one of us to become an agent to see if our societies can work together. It’s more of a demand. The man in charge has been very insistent on it.”

“That can’t happen,” Hermione surmised quickly. “If MACUSA assigned one of their people, they’d be breaking the agreement every nation signed when the statue became a law.” She thrummed her fingers on the table. “What does this have to do with me?”

They stared at her in her small kitchen, and Hermione caught on within seconds. 

These damn Americans! “You’re barking. You can’t expect me to believe that MACUSA wants me to make nice with these people.”

“You have no affiliation with this country,” Jones said. “If this experiment were to backfire, no fault would be found with our government. Our President is willing to ignore your activities in our territory as long as you comply.”

This was bloody blackmail, is what this was. By all accounts, they knew she was harboring a dangerous artifact. It had apparently been the party responsible for a number of suicides, their citizens the victims. She was considered a threat, she mused, yet they were willing to let it all go. 

How powerful was this SHIELD? MACUSA seemed to value relations with them above the lives of a few Witches and Wizards. 

She should say no. This situation was a risk to not only her mission but to her country. Kingsley would not approve. She had other pressing things to worry about. Yet, the more she thought about it, the more she wondered. How much more secure would her situation be if she were to accept? Dolohov might think twice about coming for her if this agency was as powerful as she thought. Their magic may be an open secret, but he would never know. 

She wouldn’t have to leave the states, leave Clint. She’d start making a difference again. She was being offered immunity to anything she did here. And if SHIELD did indeed have a foothold in magical politics, she’d have a useful connection she could call upon if she needed to. 

Really, was her answer ever going to be anything but no?

Hermione took the warrant in her hands, slowly ripping the paper up into shreds. She let the pieces fall onto the table’s surface, looking pointedly from the ruined document to the Auror’s. “Alright, I’ll play MACUSA’s game. But I have a few conditions.”

  
  
  
  



	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge shout out to S.Joan and thescarletphoenixx for their work on this story!

The Triskelion was enormous.

It took up most of Roosevelt Island, Hermione was told, and was one of three places SHIELD used as headquarters. She was sure it was the tallest building in this area. She felt out of place among the pressed suits and perfectly groomed hair. As she walked to the office where she’d meet this Director Fury, she noticed technology was everywhere. She resolved not to touch anything lest her magic surge and cause damage. 

It was a month after the  _ incident _ as she was referring to it in her mind, and many things had changed since then. She’d moved out of the little flat near Liberty Lane, her former boss convinced she was moving back home after the mess with her cat. She was the owner of a new wand, one that fit her better than the black market one she’d purchased, and duly registered with MACUSA as belonging to her. Before she’d left her flat for the last time she’d taken her wand from the safe, reveled in the feeling of her rightness and power for a moment, and then snapped it in two. The pain from the backfire of magic had hurt, physically and emotionally. Yet, she’d known it was the only option for a clean slate. Dolohov could no longer track her with it, and if she was lucky, he’d think she got the hell out of dodge.

When in fact, she’d only moved closer to MACUSA’s DC field office.

She’d raided the American Ministry’s archives, collecting all the books on runic and protection magic and holding up in her new flat until now. They’d have liked for her to meet this man right away, but she’d been adamant about needing the time. 

The results of her self-imposed isolation lay in the silver-chained necklace that rested on her neck. The pendant was diamond-shaped, delicate runes etched onto the metal. They were tiny, placed there through trial and error by Hermione herself. Fitting perfectly and held by barely noticeable prongs was the Resurrection Stone. She’d worked hard and studied runic protection theory until she was sure she could create a placeholder for the stone like the old Gaunt family ring. If it worked, no one would feel the effects of the stone as long as it stayed in the pendant.

Today was her first actual test. So far, she’d been fine, but her mental fortitude was stronger than the average Witch or Wizard or Muggle.

Clint, just before her move, had been unexpectedly called to his job. He’d gotten the message while they were out, his easy-going nature replaced at the drop of a hat as he spoke on his mobile. He’d been gone since, and while she missed him like crazy, he’d been one less distraction in her pursuit to keep the stone from attracting attention. Her former boss had promised to call her on the new phone MACUSA provided for her should he stop by, but he hadn’t. He’d tried calling the store a couple of weeks ago, but he’d had to hang up abruptly and hadn’t gotten her new number. 

It’d been a lonely month.

She used to  _ love _ it when she got days to herself before her friends invaded her space. Yet, a month with no contact from Clint had her craving his company whenever she allowed herself to think about it. She missed his presence, his easy personality, his damn grin, even his dog. She especially missed being in his arms. Merlin, he needed to come back to DC and track her down. Maybe she’d use her new connection to MACUSA or SHIELD, and find him. 

Hermione entered a hallway suddenly devoid of the crush of people all over the building. A man dressed in all black, a black eye patch covering his face and his face set in a scowl, was talking to a pretty blonde at her desk. Hermione remembered Channing’s description of Director Fury and realized this was him. It only took his seconds to realize he was there, his body tensing as he finished his conversation with the woman before turning to her. 

“Granger, I presume?”

Hermione lifted a brow at his displeased tone. “You must be Director Fury.”

He walked down the hall without another word. Hermione shot a look at the woman, but she was looking at something on her desk, paying them no attention. Rolling her eyes, she followed him.

His office was big, befitting a man of his status. It was also impersonal. There were the standard couch and small table that might be an invitation for a friend, and two solitary chairs in front of his desk. The desk itself was neat, containing multiple computer screens and a black keyboard. A single manila folder, thin in content, sat on the edge of the desk. His windows took up the entire back wall, the entirety of DC laid out before them.

“So, a Witch and not an American one.”

Fury was leaning against his desk, arms crossed with one booted ankle over the other. Hermione noticed the knife and gun harness attached to his thigh. He didn’t offer her a seat or refreshment, his face wasn’t welcoming. 

Hermione wasn’t sure how to act around him, so she called on all her years worth of the polite deference her mother had drummed into her. “Yes, I’m originally from the United Kingdom.”

“I see.” Fury stood from his position moving to the other side of the desk and reaching for the folder. “When I asked your people at MACUSA to send one of their agents as an experiment, I was asking for cooperation.” He held out the folder to her, forcing her to step forward to take it from him. “Is this your idea of cooperation?”

Hermione didn’t say anything as she opened it, revealing a single sheet of paper. It contained only her name and her picture, the official one in her file as an Auror. She could see he wasn’t amused by this, nor should he be, but this also didn’t surprise her. Knowing about their kind existing and knowing the intimate details about them were two different things. She sighed, closing it and handing it back to him. “Were you expecting an entire history on me?”

“Something like that.” Fury scowled. “SHIELD operates on an often dangerous level. We reinvented the game of Global Security. I expected an older experienced magical well versed in magic that I could pair with two of my top agents. Instead, I get a kid who looks like she should still be in college. Tell me, do you even know how to throw a punch?”

The underlying hint of disbelief in his tone put her back up. “Appearances can be deceiving,” she said cooly. “I may not be what you were looking for, I certainly don’t want to be here, Director Fury. But if you want someone knowledgeable in magic, I’m that person.”

“We’ll see about that,” he said cryptically. “After getting this bullshit of a file, I looked you up in the system. Hermione Jean Granger, born in England to two well off Dentists. You were a bright child, soaring through your academics and slated to enter one of the top Universities the UK has to offer. Then at the age of eleven, your parents opted not to prepay for your guaranteed spot for the next school year at the private school you attended. They disenrolled you the summer before your twelfth birthday. There are no other records for your education, and you have the yearly dental and medical check-ups one would look for in a healthy household.” He lifted a brow. “You are not the only person with this pattern to their life. This is repeated by a number of countries, all children.”

Hermione shrugged. “I think my people should listen to those like me when we say their methods aren’t working anymore.” Hadn’t she argued with Kingsley for years that children disappearing from Muggle records before their entry to Hogwarts was a pattern the Muggles would notice eventually? “You’re asking for cooperation, Director Fury, and that’s what you’ll get from me. What I’m not going to do is give you a further step into my world at this point in time. I don’t know you.”

Fury nodded, his scowl letting up a little. “That’s the first sensible thing I’ve heard come out of your mouth. Who do you give your loyalty to, Granger?”

“My loyalty lies, and always will, with my country,” Hermione answered honestly. “I won’t lie to you. There will come a time where I have to go home and abandon SHIELD. I’ll do it without a backward glance. But until that day comes, I’m under your employee. Unless you ask me to betray my people, I’m yours.”

Fury shrugged. “Fair enough.”

Hermione’s shoulders sagged slightly. She hadn’t been expecting an agreement so quickly. “I don’t understand you.”

“And you’re not going to,” he said. “Look, without all the balls in my hand, I can’t figure how to juggle you. What I’m looking for is someone to provide support to my top people in the field, and not need them to have to worry about protecting your ass in the crossfire. I want someone who can hold their own, be a working wheel in the machine.”

“Then you have the right person,” Hermione allowed. “I can tell you I’m trained to combat dark magic. Take that however you will, but I won’t hold your people back.”

Director Fury took in her words before moving past her. “We’ll see. Come on, then. The two agents on your team got back in today. Normally, I’d let them leave, but I wanted them to meet you right away.”

Hermione walked beside him, the man opting to take a side door with stairs instead of the elevator. “What can you tell me about them?”

Fury stayed silent for a moment. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to give you an impression before you meet them. It’ll be more than your people gave me.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Old news, Director.”

He snorted, “You say. There are two of them, a man and a woman. They’re some of the best SHIELD has to offer. I send them into situations that would normally be impossible to get out of.”

When he said nothing else, Hermione huffed impatiently. “Really?”

“No,” he said. “Both are experts in hand to hand, though she is usually the one to get in there and fuck someone up. He’s a marksman who doesn’t miss a shot. You’ll find him glued to a corner, or some vent, or the highest vantage point during missions. They’re trained to handle all sorts of technology and machinery. They have a good dynamic. It’ll be a little shaky at first as they won’t trust you at their backs, but I’m putting stock in you not fucking up.”

No names, no descriptions of appearance, just a basic overview of their abilities. Hermione supposed she didn’t need them, they would be meeting in a bit anyway, but her imagination was not doing her any favors. Her mind went back to old movies where the agents were stoic and steely-eyed. 

“Remind me to get you a cell phone,” Director Fury said.

“I already have a mobile,” Hermione declined. “I can get you the number.”

“Not an encrypted SHIELD approved one,” he shot back. “You’ll be seeing some sensitive things, Granger. We have the best technology has to offer, and what I send you needs to be safe from hackers all over the world.” He side-eyed her. “Unless you can tell me that magic has a way around it.”

Hermione bit her lip. “I don’t think I’d be revealing anything by telling you that magic and technology generally don’t mix. I’m sure you can perceive that for yourself.”

“Your type does seem to stick to older fashions in all areas.”

“To our own detriment, really.” She sent him a quick grin. “What we do have is charms that can be applied to items that fall under the technological umbrella that makes them safe for us to use. Without them, our magic may backfire and destroy it. I’ll have to apply them to any mobile you give me.”

“Are you willing to share those charms with SHIELD?” Fury asked.

“Nope,” Hermione replied cheerfully. 

“Thought not.” He stopped at a door. “Agents Romanov and Barton won’t ever trust you if you hold too much back. You can’t tell me, but for the sake of this team’s success, I hope you’ll give a little more to them.”

Barton… Before Hermione could ask or think, Director Fury was opening the door and stalking in. They’d entered a spacious sparring room, three separate boxing rings placed throughout. There were mats littering the floor. Hermione entered behind the Director, eyes finding the sole occupants of the room, their laughter easy as they drank from takeout cups.

Natasha saw her first, her eyes falling on Fury and then landing on her. Her shock showed on her face for an instant before a blank look took over, though her mouth was turned down in a frown.

“Barton, Romanov, I’ve brought the Witch I was telling you about.”

Hermione didn’t hear what else he said, her eyes stuck on the man that turned at the sound of the Director’s voice. She whispered his name, her voice traveling across the room. He found her right away, his eyes widening when he saw her. His body went ramrod straight a moment later, his jaw clenching. Hermione found it hard to breathe. What was he doing here?

“What is this?” Clint demanded, striding to the two of them as fast as his legs could carry him.

Director Fury looked between the two of them. He’d heard her more clearly than anyone else. “You two know each other?”

“That’s his girlfriend,” Natasha said as she followed her partner more calmly. “You know, the one he’s always in a hurry to rush out of here for when we get back from an assignment?”

“Barton!” Fury barked out, “How did you not know she was a Witch?”

“I didn’t tell him.” “She didn’t tell me.”

The two sentences were said together, both in completely different tones. Hermione’s was a mere whisper while Clint’s held a hard edge. Hermione was trying not to panic, his eyes were hard when he looked at her. It wasn’t a look she’d seen from him before, at least not directed at her. This wasn’t how he was supposed to find out. 

She ignored the other two people in the room, focusing on Clint. “I couldn’t tell you,” she told him. “It’s against the law.”

“I’m finding out now,” he pointed out.

Hermione shrugged, trying to muster up a smile but failing. “Still technically against the law.”

No one said anything, Hermione holding her breath as Clint seemed to be mulling something over. Suddenly, he reached forward and grabbed her by the arm, tugging her away from the other agents and towards the door. Hermione didn’t fight the hold, eager to get away from everyone too.

“Barton, where are you going!” Fury shouted after them.

“Stay out of this, Director!” Clint replied hotly before taking them from the room.

  
  
  



	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge shout out to S.Joan and thescarletphoenixx for their work on this story!

Hermione found herself in the nearest maintenance closet, her back against the wall as Clint caged her in with his arms. He was still upset, his mouth set in a firm line, his eyes never softening. It was a far cry from the way he usually was with her. Hermione found she couldn’t wait for him to say something. “Clint-”

“What happened?”

The question was abrupt, and it threw Hermione completely off guard. “What do you mean?”

“What happened to you that Fury finally got his wish? He’s been asking for a representative from your type for ages, and they’ve always held back. Did you ask to be sent here?”

Hermione scoffed, “Oh no, trust me, I was essentially blackmailed.”

“What?” Clint grit out.

“That doesn’t matter.” Hermione pushed lightly against his chest, leaning back again when he didn’t move. “Can we talk about this later? Preferably when your Director might not be finding a way to listen in?”

“No,” Clint said. “You said it was against the law for me to know you have magic, fine. But I know now, and that means you’re going to tell me everything.”

Her temper was starting to light at his demanding tone. “I don’t have to tell you anything, not when you’re being a bully.”

Clint opened his mouth, before tersely closing it. “Hermione,” he said slowly. “I care about you, more than I have anyone else in my life. Do you think it’s easy for me to find you here, in a place I never wanted to touch you?” He closed his eyes. “Baby, my control is hanging by a thread here.”

As his pain-filled words left his mouth, Hermione’s rising temper deflated. She nodded, though he didn’t see with his eyes closed. She summoned her wand from its holster and spelled the room against anyone eavesdropping. “Clint… There are so many things I can’t tell you, not without breaking the law.”

He seemed to struggle with that, his head dipping down, the muscles in his arms flexing. Hermione hated lying to him. It wouldn’t be the law she was breaking divulging everything, but her oaths. He didn’t like the thought of what might have gotten her sucked into SHIELD? He’d hate the whole story even more.

Finally, Clint opened his eyes and looked up at her, nodding in curt acceptance. “Okay. I’ll have to take that, even if I don’t like it. What can you tell me?”

Hermione pondered that for a moment before working out an acceptable answer. “The day of the incident… The day that Freya died, it was one of a few things that happened. Someone else broke into my flat, and I hurt him with my magic, bad.”

“Is he dead?” Clint asked.

She took a deep breath. “Yes.” It’d been another mess for Jones and Channing to clean up because the only reason he’d taken the risk in the first place was the death of his little girl a year back. Hermione tried not to feel guilty for it. “Like any society, we have rules. I could have been in trouble, but our version of the police was willing to make it go away if I joined SHIELD.”

He sighed, a hand coming off the wall to rub his face. “You know, I never wanted any aspect of my job to reach you.”

Hermione frowned, she wasn’t a fragile woman by any means. “Is that why you never told me the extent of it? You know I thought you worked for a private company.” Though she’d had her doubts and intuitions all along.

“What was I supposed to say?” The hand transferred to his hair. “Hey, regular girl who has ensnared me so bad I don’t even want to try and get free, I actually work for a top-secret agency. I’m essentially a spy or assassin, the positions are interchangeable.” He grimaced. “Except you’re not regular, so I worked to be normal for nothing.”

Hermione shifted in place. “Does it bother you, the fact that I have magic?”

“No,” Clint replied. “I’m bothered that there’s a law preventing you from telling me. When would you have been able to if you hadn’t come here?”

“When we got married.” At Clint’s disbelieving look, Hermione shrugged. “It used to be if you had a child and they proved to have magic, but the law’s been amended since then.”

He shook his head, moving closer so that his forehead touched hers. “That’s insane, Hermione.”

“It’s the tip of the iceberg, really.” Hermione tentatively linked her arms around his neck. “Are we okay then?”

“I’m still bothered,” Clint told her honestly. “But since there’s nothing that either of us can do about that, I’ll have to get over it.”

“Understandable.” Hermione reached over and pinched his ear. “Just so know that I’m bothered by you feeling the need to hide any part of yourself from me.”

Clint snorted, “Roger that.” He pressed a light kiss to her mouth. “I missed you.”

“It was a long month without you,” Hermione admitted. 

“Yeah?” Clint sounded pleased by the notion, his arms looping around her waist. “It’s good to know I wasn’t the only one suffering.”

“How’s Lucky?” 

He pulled back to stare at her, delighted laughter leaving his mouth. “I knew he’d grow on you. He’s okay, impatient to be home I hear.” He frowned. “Where are you staying now? I called the bookstore, but all I heard was you’d quit and moved before I had to go.”

“I’m still in DC,” she told him. “I have a phone now too, though Fury wants to replace it.” She sighed, “We’d better get back. This wasn’t the best impression I wanted to make in SHIELD you know.”

“Workplace romance can be messy,” Clint teased before letting her go. “Come home with me tonight? I want time with you.”

“Me too,” Hermione agreed, taking his hand when he reached out for her. 

Director Fury was waiting with his arms crossed when they walked back into the room, eyes ignoring the way Clint had entangled their fingers. Natasha was looking at the ceiling. “Good of you two to join us,” he deadpanned. “I trust your personal shit is worked out?”

“Not really,” Clint said. “But I don’t think you’d appreciate me throwing her over my shoulder and hightailing it out of here.”

Hermione flushed, pulling her fingers from his. “I apologize, Director.”

“Don’t,” Natasha chuckled as she stopped finding the ceiling fascinating. “This is the most fun he’s had in weeks, I’m sure.”

Fury rolled his eyes. “I guess that means there’s no need for introductions. Barton, find out what she can do and make it work. I have another meeting.” He walked away from them, stopping by Hermione and looking down at her. “Is that abandonment going to be soon?”

She kept her eyes on his, cursing his soul to the fiery pits of hell. “No idea, but I’ll make sure you’re informed one way or another.”

Natasha made her way over to them as he left. “So a Witch, huh? I knew there was something.”

She didn’t sound upset, but Hermione eyes her warily nonetheless. “What do you mean?”

“The night you were attacked,” she explained. “There was something about you that warned me while I was restraining you. I knew you weren’t in need of the protection we ended up giving you.”

Clint shook his head. “You didn’t bother telling me, why?”

Natasha looked at him, her expression solemn. “You’re already a dopey idiot when it comes to her. I didn’t want to set something off based on my paranoia.”

“Your aura gives off an immense amount of danger, sometimes repressed,” Hermione mused. “I thought you were another attacker when you first grabbed me.”

“Your reflexes aren’t up to par if that’s what you felt and didn’t get me off of you right away.”

Hermione pursed her lips. “I’m trained not to use magic on Muggles. While my magic instinctively wants to respond, I’ve been taught to repress that urge as long as I can. It keeps us from mass exposure.”

Natasha and Clint frowned, sharing a glance with each other. “Magic is a part of you, though. Forcing something so ingrained in your being like that is akin to cutting off one of your senses.”

She shrugged. “We know, but like any lost sense, we’ve compensated for it. The last time we practiced magic so freely, we were hunted down.”

“Times change.”

“And this experiment will determine if it’s changed enough.” Hermione doubted it though. The Statute of Secrecy could only be repealed by all the countries that originally signed agreeing to abolish it. Wizarding Britain would never reveal themselves if they can help it. “Director Fury suggested he wanted me to lend you two support when you needed it.”

Clint held up his hand before the conversation could go on. “I can discuss what we had in mind later, Nat. We’re taking off.”

Natasha smirked. “Try to actually have that discussion while making up for lost time, will you?” She nodded to Hermione and left.

Hermione watched her walk away, giving Clint a questioning glance. “Are we allowed to skive off the rest of the day?”

Clint grabbed her hand again. “We frequently get sent all over the world and put in so many hours, the overtime would make us rich if they gave it to us. Fury won’t care as long as you’re ready to go before our next assignment.” He tangled their fingers, bringing their joined hands up to his mouth. “Right now all I want is to get my dog, some food, and time with you.”

* * *

It was reminiscent of the time at her old flat; Clint spooning Hermione in his arms, their bodies settled on the couch, Lucky passed out on the floor beside them. Only this time, instead of vegging out in front of the telly, Clint was pressing small kisses to her neck. His thumb was rubbing circles on the skin above her trousers, her shirt lifting higher as he touched his way up her side. Hermione shifted against him every few seconds, her body heating from his attention. Clint didn’t hide how her body’s movements were affecting him, pressing against her fully.

Hermione angled her neck towards him when his mouth went from brief touches to nibbling. His fingers flicked the button of her trousers open, his hand skimming above her pants, and her breath hitched. “Let me take you to bed,” Clint murmured in her ear, his tongue tracing the shell of her ear and down her jaw. 

Hermione finally turned in his arms, her turn to start kissing up and down his neck, his stubble rough under her lips. “Are you sure? We’re already on the couch.”

Clint groaned, his mouth descending on hers. Hermione opened her mouth eagerly, his tongue sliding in to tangle with hers. They went like this for a while, neither willing to cede control until Clint dipped his finger under her pants. She arched into him, her mouth breaking free from his as he touched her. “Clint…”

“Bed,” he ordered. “I’ve wanted you there for a long time.”

Hermione nodded, linking her arms around his neck and fusing her mouth to his when he stood with her and picked her up. 

After, when they were sweaty and wrapped up in each other, Hermione lay against him in contentment. Clint held her tight, his arm sweeping up and down her back. “You’re staying here tonight.”

“Okay,” she agreed sleepily.

“You’ll move into my apartment.”

“Hmmm.” Hermione opened one up to look up at him, closing it when she saw he was staring at the ceiling. “Don’t push your luck.”

“Had to try.” Clint’s fingers wandered until they were brushing her breast. “I’ll get you to agree eventually.”

“Maybe,” Hermione murmured, her body shifting. Her mind was full of nothing for a change. “I know better than to agree to anything while under the influence.”

Clint grinned. “Never heard it put that way before, sounds like a challenge. Hermione?”

Her eyes opened when his other hand snuck under her chin and lifted it. “Clint?”

He kissed her softly. “Again.”

She grinned. “Okay.”

  
  
  
  



	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge shout out to S.Joan and thescarletphoenixx for their work on this story!

Hermione surfaced from sleep to someone rubbing her arm. She kept her eyes closed, brain still half-asleep, frowning at the sensation. While the scar on her arm no longer hurt or bled, tracing the letters always felt weird. It was raised flesh, cursed skin. 

Her eyes opened wide, her body rising until she leaned on her elbow, forcing Clint to stop what he’d been doing. His eyes were flat, gaze never leaving her arm, even when Hermione whipped her hair around so that it covered the word. She lifted the sheet to look down at herself, and there was Dolohov’s mark, the sunburst pattern spread over her abdomen. She fought the sigh, never realizing last night that this might happen. Glamour spells worked well when no one knew what they were looking at, but the magic didn’t take away what they felt like. Clint had touched her everywhere last night, he’d have felt something off from what he was seeing and that was it for the spell.

“What does it mean?” Clint asked quietly.

Well, she supposed there was no use keeping it from him. “Dirty blood. It’s derogatory, used to make people like me feel inferior.”

“Your people did this to you?”

One, only one person. “Muggles aren’t well-liked in some parts,” she said ruefully. “The whole witch hunt thing drastically hampered that relationship, and the effects still happen today. I’m the child of two Muggles, normal people like you. Some would consider me inferior.”

Clint laced their fingers together, his thumb running along her skin. “You’re not inferior.”

Hermione smiled at him. “No, I’m not, but it took a long time for others to see that.” She shrugged. “I’m not bothered by this scar overmuch. It reminds me that people saw me as a threat, and they were scared.”

Clint shook his head, a tiny grin quirking his mouth. “I don’t know how I ever saw you as this normal girl who likes books.”

“That’s what I wanted you to see, and I do like books, often more than people.” Since he was still staring at her covered arm Hermione added, “She’s dead, the woman who did this. She died not too long after it happened.”

Clint finally looked at her, his eyes amused as he ran his free hand over his mouth. “People who end up coming after you tend to die.”

“Makes me perfect for our line of work then, doesn’t it.”

He grimaced. “Don’t remind me. I don’t like it.”

Hermione looked around the room, finally realizing it was too quiet. “Where’s Lucky? When he was staying with me, I couldn’t pry him out of my bed for all the treats in the world.”

“He’s embarrassed,” Clint chuckled. “He stayed out in the living room last night.”

“Really? I don’t think I’ve ever made a dog embarrassed before.” Hermione laughed at the idea as she made her way onto Clint’s lap. She bit her lip, giving him a small grin. “You want to make him more embarrassed?”

Clint wrapped his arms around her, one hand going to her hair. “Baby, you read my mind.”

Later, as they were eating breakfast for lunch, he finally got around to having the conversation he’d promised Natasha he would. Hermione was comfortable in his hoodie and her pants, knee tucked to her chest as he poured them cereal. “What kind of magic can you do?”

She poked her spoon into the bowl, pushing cereal that had risen to the top back into the milk. “The answer’s broad. I grew up learning the basics, and then I learned as I needed to. I know most about combating dark magic.”

Clint studied her, spooning cereal into his mouth. Hermione knew he wanted to ask why she needed to know how to defeat dark magic, but he didn’t ask. Instead, he swallowed and nodded. “Okay, we haven’t run into magic users that I know of, so that isn’t helpful on our end. Can you incapacitate people?” At her nod, he continued. “What about healing?”

Hermione frowned, considering her answer. “Well, I’m not a Healer, so I only know the basics for small things. Anything requiring a hospital is out of my depth, though it wouldn’t be hard to learn if I needed to. I can brew potions we could use for emergencies.”

“Can you cause distractions?”

She rolled her eyes, her mind jumping back to her adventures in school. “Yes, especially if I’m there to keep it going.”

Clint set his bowl aside. “What happens if you lose the wand?”

Said wand was currently keeping her hair in a messy bun. “I don’t need my wand to do everything, but it makes it easier. I’ll tire quicker without it.”

“That’s a weakness.” Clint scowled. “You know how to fight, but do you specialize in anything?”

“As in a fighting style?” Hermione shook her head. “I was taught a mix of things, but never enough of one to indicate it belonged to one type.”

“Natasha can help with that,” Clint mused. “What about weapons? You have to be good with range to cast spells, I imagine.”

She inclined her head, brow furrowing. “I don’t use other weapons.”

Clint paused in his thoughts, his displeasure clear. “At all?”

“I have magic,” Hermione said slowly. 

“And if you can’t use it?”

“There’s the hand to hand.”

Clint pressed on, leaning forward in his seat. “When that’s not an option? What does that leave you with?”

“I’ve never had to find out.” She’d always had back up. The types of situations had never been an issue for her. “Fighting with magic is different. No one is likely to pull a gun or anything like that.” Though she’d once had a few pull knives on her, they’d been too drunk to throw it with any accuracy.

“We’re fixing that.” Clint held up a hand when she tried to argue. “No, Hermione. Nat will agree with me on this. I can’t count how many times we’ve had to grab whatever we have to fight our way out of a situation.”

Huffing, Hermione crossed her arms over the leg on the chair, leaning her chin on the knee. “Guns are so… loud.”

The look he gave her was filled with pity. “Is that the best you can come up with?”

She rolled her eyes, sitting back in the chair. “Fine, I’ll learn, but I don’t promise to like it.”

“As long as it keeps you alive,” Clint retorted. “How do you feel about flying?”

Hermione groaned.

* * *

Hermione lined up her sight like Clint had taught her, aiming the small gun at the center of her target. Licking her lips, she pulled the trigger. Like her previous attempts, she jerked a bit as the gun went off, her shot flying wild and missing the body-shaped metal entirely. 

Grumbling under her breath, Hermione rolled her shoulders and tried again because who needed other weapons when one had magic.

Natasha came to stand on the upper level of the indoor range with Clint, observing their newest partner. “She’s too tense.”

Clint grunted, “Yeah. Not much I can do about that until she gets over her aversion to other weapons.”

She chuckled as the gun jammed, Hermione frowning down at it fiercely like it’d personally offended her. “Can you blame her? She took down the agents in that simulation with waves of her hands. I’m sure she finds anything else unnecessary.”

He snorted, shaking his head as he recalled the practice he’d organized. “She’s my Jedi, all right, but even they had lightsabers when the Force didn’t cut it.”

“Maybe you should introduce her to something obsolete,” Natasha said dryly. “Make her the Marian to your Robin.”

Clint shot her a look. “I’ll remember that comment the next to you’re in a jam.”

“But seriously, we may have to leave her be on learning the basics. She’s decent at hand to hand, and I know I can make her better. Between that and her magic, it’ll have to be enough.”

Clint drummed his fingers on the railing, a frown pulling his face down. “I want her to at least get a handle on moving while shooting, and then I’ll drop it.”

Natasha looked at him incredulously. “We don’t have the kind of time to make her that proficient. Fury wants her ready yesterday.”

“The Director’s going to have to pound sand on this one. Normally spouses aren’t assigned together and for a good reason. I don’t want her dropped into one of our shit shows without being prepared.”

“You’re not married,” she pointed out. 

“Still a major conflict of interest. I know she’s capable to a point.” Clint had to push down the rising frustration that swelled in him whenever he thought about what he knew, and all that he didn’t. “But I don’t trust what I haven’t seen for myself. Fighting those of her kind with the same skills she has is different than someone hellbent on blowing your head off or beating you to death.”

They both stayed silent and watched the Witch, Clint silently applauding when the bullet actually hit the metal target this time. 

“You’re afraid to lose her.”

Clint took a deep breath, the words arrowing straight to a point he only acknowledged when he was alone. “I think she’s it, Nat.”

Natasha looked at him sharply, but his face had closed off, his focus on the movement below. She changed the subject instead. “Did you read what happened during her computer assignment?”

At once, Clint’s face lit in amusement even as he shook his head. “Fried the whole damn system. Tech support was not happy with either of us. She says there are charms she can put on things that run on electricity, but it’s tricky and wouldn’t apply to any hacking jobs that need results immediately.”

Natasha shrugged. “I’m enough for all of us.” 

“Ego,” Clint snorted, but it was the truth. As Hermione fired, he suddenly leaned forward, the bullet making its way and hitting the target just above the center. She lowered the gun by a fraction and fired another shot before the first finished pinging the metal. This one hit dead center, the satisfaction on her face evident. “Did you see that? She adjusted before even knowing where the first shot would land. We’ll make a well-rounded SHIELD agent out of her yet.”

Natasha shook her head as Clint jogged to the stairs and took them two at a time to get to the range floor. She observed the two of them from her position, taking in the excitement on both their faces. Watching people was one of the aspects of her job that she enjoyed. She found out more about people when they didn’t realize they were being watched. There were no facades to keep up with, no parts to play. Natasha liked knowing the truth about people. It gave her the ground she needed to act the way she was supposed to.

She’d observed Hermione Granger a lot since the woman joined SHIELD. Not only was she their partner, but she was Clint’s girl as well. She’d wanted to make sure the magic-wielding stranger would do nothing to harm her best friend. She was pleased so far with what she’d seen. She made Clint laugh, often matching snark for snark. She made a serious effort to train the way he wanted her to instead of putting her foot down like Natasha would have done in her position. Maybe she recognized he needed her to be safe out there; the only way he knew how. And if that was the case, then she knew him far better than the other agent’s Clint had tried making a go of things with in the past. The magic still made her wary, as did the stubborn silence on her past. She hadn’t forgotten Fury’s parted words during their ‘introduction,’ even if Clint chose to.

Natasha saw Hermione shake her head in exasperation as Clint demonstrated something with his hands. No matter the woman’s secrets, the emotion in her eyes when she looked at him was real. She might one day up and disappear on them both, but she wouldn’t betray them, him. She also knew should Hermione disappear, Clint would spend every free moment tracking her down. 

She supposed that had to be good enough for her.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge shout out to S.Joan and thescarletphoenixx for their work on this story!

“Change of plan. Jedi, we need a distraction.”

Hermione rolled her eyes at the nickname but considered her options. They were in a secluded area where the trees stretched on for miles. She could, theoretically, start blowing stuff up. Yet, that would alert the hidden tower full of men with guns situated not too far from here. This was a stealth mission, a retrieval of information for SHIELD. A massive firefight was not the goal.

She glanced down at the black attire SHIELD had given her, a plan forming in her head. She’d need her wand.

Hermione weakly made her way to the front door, a frazzled expression on her face. Her hair was freed from the strict confines of her braid, a low side-ponytail taking its place, her natural frizz lending the appearance she’d been at this for a bit. Gone was the black uniform, transfigured into torn jeans and a dirty sweater. The little gun Clint made her carry was strapped to her boot and hidden beneath her trousers, her wand invisible under the glamour weaved into her holster.

She knew she looked like a lost vulnerable woman, an easy target for these types of criminals. Now all she had to do was play the part until Clint or Natasha said otherwise.

Hermione threw herself at the door with a small thud, her palm banging on the entrance in a weakened frenzy. “Hello! Can anyone hear me! Hello!”

She kept it up until the door was being yanked open. Hermione didn’t need to fake stumbling into the man’s arms, her body succumbing to gravity. He grasped her arms bruisingly, pulling back to get a look at her. “What’s this?” The other man shifted his hand to his side, his eyes narrow.

“Oh, thank you!” Hermione let out breathlessly. “We were camping, you see, and I got separated from my friends.” Her eyes started glistening as she bravely held back tears. “We’ve never been to these parts before and I don’t know my way back to our campsite. I don’t have any of my gear.”

The other man continued to look at her suspiciously. “This is private property. There are no sites for camping.”

“What?” Hermione blinked in disbelief. “No, that can’t be true. My friend said it was okay.” She looked into the eyes of the man holding her, her face pleading. “Please, Sir, we wouldn’t break the law. Not knowingly. If you let me use your phone, I’ll try and see who has reception. We’ll leave.”

The men shared a look, and Hermione shifted in the man’s grip. She didn’t fight their hold, even though she was sure there would be two new bruises on her upper arms when she got out of here. The suspicious one looked at her. Hermione put on her best scared face, her arms crossing under her breasts the best they could while being held. She found a patch of skin under her sweater, pinched it hard, and twisted. 

The added effect of a few tears slipping down her face sealed the deal. Something came into his eyes, a light that Hermione didn’t like on a normal day. He nodded once to the man holding her. “Bring her in.”

Anytime now, Clint. “Thank you! Thank you so much! I promise I’ll make one phone call. I’ll be out of your hair soon.”

“You’re not a bother.” The closed the door behind her, ushering her into a room designed as a receiving room. “Sometimes we get people like you who don’t realize where they are.” She was directed to a couch. “Would you like a drink? Being in the woods without water is dangerous.” One of them left before she could confirm.

Bastards. “Thank you, yes, can I have some water?” Freed from the hard hold, Hermione curled her arms around herself fully. Her hand landed above her wand holster, fingers grabbing part of the wood. “You are too kind. I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t found help. I was walking for hours.”

The other man came back, a glass of water in his hand. It was clear as can be, but Hermione knew they’d put something in there. She smiled gratefully and accepted the glass with her free hand.

“Time to leave, Babe. We have what we need.”

Hermione extracted her wand and brought it up in a flash. “Stupefy.” The man who’d tried to drug her fell in a heap. The other one didn’t have time to do more than step back in surprise before he was crumpling from the same blue light. “Honestly,” she spoke into the earpiece. “I thought I was going to have to drink the bloody water.”

“Gripe at me later. Make them forget you and get out.”

Hermione sighed, kneeling next to the first man to do as he ordered. She regretted the night she let out that she had a spell that could modify memories. Clint and Natasha had been eager for her to use it. It left a bad taste in her mouth every time, her dreams filled with her parents every time she used it. Of course, neither of them knew why she hated this spell in particular and Hermione didn’t know how to broach the subject without revealing things she shouldn’t.

Once that was done, she levitated the men until they were passed out on the same couch they’d sat her on. They would wake up thinking they’d decided to have a midday drink, an opened liquor bottle and two partially filled glasses added to make it believable. She transfigured her clothes back to her black attire as she left the house, apparating back to the clearing that held the invisible jet they used as transportation. 

Natasha was already at the controls, headset over her ears. Clint was leaning against the ramp, looking her over as she climbed on. He tugged on a curl, her hair still disheveled from her earlier attempt to look pitiful. “I’m thinking pasta tonight.”

“Anything sounds good right now. I’m starved.” Her mind flashed back to times after the workday was over. She, Harry, and Ron would grab the nearest takeaway and decompress after a particularly hard day. She looked at Natasha. “What are you doing when we get back, Natasha? Would you care to join us?”

Natasha gave her a surprised look she didn’t mask in time, her shoulders shrugging nonchalantly. “I could go for some Buco’s. Clint’s buying.”

“I always buy,” he grumbled but he reached over and gave Hermione’s hand a quick squeeze.

* * *

Hermione was laughing so hard, she had to set her plate down before she spilled the takeout carton full of noodles. “No way! That really happened?”

Clint sunk farther into his seat, sending a glare Natasha’s way. “Do we really need to hear this story?”

Natasha smirked at him. She used her chopsticks to twirl more noodles, chewing them as she watched him squirm. “Yes.”

Getting food and winding down with each other had been incorporated into their mission routine after the first time. The three fit well together in this setting, lounging on comfortable couches and talking about anything that came to mind. Hermione was happy for the easy camaraderie. It made her feel like she’d made the right choice accepting MACUSA’s blackmail instead of disappearing. 

Sometimes, when things were quieter and Hermione’s mind had more of a chance to wander, she wondered if she truly deserved to be as content as she was. She hadn’t heard anything since the phone call, but she was sure Ron had to relocate. Was the wand still giving him trouble? When she was alone with nothing to distract her, the stone would call to her, even with the enchantments she’d woven into its container. She couldn’t imagine how the Elder Wand, known for its powerful allure, was affecting Ron. And if they couldn’t find a way to stop its magical projecting, would Dolohov pick up his trail as he had hers?

The guilt plagued her when she let it. If she’d been allowed, Hermione would have searched high and low until she found a solution. Ron didn’t deserve to have to move locations before he’d even settled in. Dolohov kept slipping from Harry’s grasp. The situation frustrated her to no end. 

“Hermione?”

She looked up from her container, finding two sets of eyes on her; one pair concerned and the other calculating. “Yes?”

“We were asking if you wanted a cookie,” Clint said slowly. His hand settled on her knee, his thumb rubbing the fabric of her trousers. “Are you okay? You spaced.”

Hermione gave them a bright smile. “I’m fine. I’m just losing my second wind, my mind is starting to drift.” She shoved more noodles in her mouth before they could ask anything more.

Clint settled back into his seat, resuming his talk with Natasha. His hand left her knee to move across her back so that he could tug her to his side. His fingers slipped under her shirt, sliding soothingly across her skin in a small caress. Hermione laid her head on Clint’s shoulder, curling her legs on the couch. She found she really was tired. Her carton was practically empty so she leaned it against the back of her thighs, closing her eyes to the sound of their voices.

Clint trailed off when he felt Hermione’s breathing change, turning his head a bit and pecking the top of her head gently. “She was somewhere else.”

“Yeah, that smile wasn’t too convincing.” Natasha leaned forward in her seat. “Has she opened up to you more?”

“No.” Clint ran a frustrated hand over his hair. “Sometimes I’ll come upon her and she has this look on her face that makes me want to kill whoever hurt her. But if I try to get her to talk about her life before the bookstore, she’ll redirect the conversation or distract me.”

“Those methods definitely never work on you,” Natasha responded dryly.

He shrugged, not bothering to deny it. “I’m not going to force her to tell me anything. I have the feeling that if I push, she’ll be gone before I know it.”

“Have you thought about looking her up?”

“Yes,” he admitted. “I thought about it for a good five minutes before deciding not to. Even I know that’s bound to make her mad, or even worse, hurt.”

Natasha studied the pair for a moment, before leaning back and looking at her nails. “I did.”

Clint’s head shot up, his eyes narrowing on the redhead. “Why did you do that?”

“Fury sent her to us without so much as a clearance check or a file, and expected us to work with her.” Natasha tilted her head to the side. “You would have done the same thing.”

“She’s my girlfriend, Nat.” Clint shook his head. “You should have checked with me before doing anything.”

She lifted a brow, watching him try not to seethe. “You’re obviously too close to the situation. You would have told me no.”

Damn right he would have. Clint stewed in silence for a few minutes, struggling between his instincts and his heart before giving in. “Fine. Tell me what you know.”

“Hermione Jean Granger, born a healthy baby girl in 1979 to two Dentists. She had excellent grades and a guaranteed spot in a respected boarding school until she hit her adolescents. After that, she only surfaced a few months out of the year for medical checks and occasional vacation travel. Around her eighteenth year, both her and her parents vanished without a trace. Their practice and house were sold, the funds wiring into a bank account for a couple under a different name. Funny enough, if you look at their identification, they are identical to Hermione’s parents.” She paused. “Fury had most of this buried under layers upon layers.”

Clint soaked it all in. “Is there more?”

Natasha grimaced. “Hermione was never officially with them, at least not on any record I could dig up. About a year after that, there was a big fire at their home in Mackay, Australia. Neither made it out. Coincidentally or not, Hermione was checked into a hotel not too far from there at the time. A week later, her parents under their original names were declared dead from a private plane crash. There is no record of said crash, but the documents are official and not forged.”

“She wasn’t SHIELD before this.” He didn’t think, but with Fury you could never be too sure. Still, she hadn’t faked her lack of knowledge of their protocols. Clint felt he would know. “But we’re not the only agency out there. Europe has some tight-lipped ones.”

“You don’t think she had something to do with their deaths?” Natasha asked.

“No,” Clint answered without hesitation. He sent Nat a frustrated look, more angry with himself for letting her tell him what she knew. All these questions swirled around in his head, but he knew he couldn’t mention anything to Hermione. 

She seemed pleased, nodding at his response. “I don’t get that vibe either.” She looked at him knowingly. “I wasn’t going to keep this information from you. You love her.”

Yes, he did. That made knowing what he knew now even worse. 

* * *

“Are you sure this will work?”

Hermione strived for patience when Clint asked the same question for the fifth time. She added the Sneezewort and stirred clockwise once, pleased when the potion bubbled dark green. “Yes, Clint. All Natasha has to do is poor drops of this into the drinks, and they’ll be out of the way.”

Clint watched as she scooped the mixture into a vial. “You could transport in and cause the same damage with your wand before anyone knows you’re there.”

“This is Natasha’s mission,” Hermione reminded him. “She asked me if I had anything that could help distract the squad of men guarding her target. This is it.”

“Are you absolutely sure you can trust this...concoction?”

Hermione whirled around, giving Clint a huge smile that came out as a grimace. “I have been brewing for years. As long as I make the potion right, it will do what it’s supposed to.” She held up a finger before he could open his mouth. “Don’t insult me. I wouldn’t have bottled it if I’d brewed it incorrectly.”

Clint held up his hands in surrender. “Sorry. You’re right. It’s just…” His shoulders relaxed, hands dropping to his side. “Russia missions always become complicated for her. I’ve been called in to help extract her more than she’d care to admit.”

Hermione cupped his cheek with her hand, smiling in understanding before kissing him once. “Okay, but I promise, this will work.”

“I trust you,” Clint told her. He rubbed his lips over hers. “Today’s a good day to take Lucky to the park. You want to come?”

“Sure,” Hermione answered absently. She made a comment about changing, leaving Clint to call for Lucky as she enclosed herself in her room. 

_ I trust you. _

Those words should have filled her with warmth, but instead, they left her feeling cold. He trusted her and knowing Clint the way she did, that wasn’t a phrase he tossed around lightly. How could he when there was so much she was keeping from him? He knew there was more to her world than what she’d said, but he’d never tried to question her since the last time they’d spoken about it. Yet, he trusted her. 

Hermione clutched the necklace so hard, she could feel the sharp edges of the pendant trying to break her skin. She closed her eyes, feeling shame was over her. He deserved to know everything, but she couldn’t tell him. She’d already deviated from the plan they’d put into place to stay with him. Before Clint, she would never have done that. Before Clint, she would have never considered a relationship worth the risk. 

It wasn’t fair. Why did she have to find him when so much was at stake?

Lucky barked, Clint laughing as he responded like they were having a conversation. Hermione let out a calming breath, using the slight pinch from the necklace to ground her. If life was fair, they wouldn’t be in this situation. Clint didn’t deserve to be told half-truths, or outright lied to. But that was her life, and until she could change that, there was no use dwelling on it. She could be his girlfriend, his team member, and give him as much of herself as she could.

That would have to be enough.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge shout out to S.Joan and thescarletphoenixx for their work on this story!

Hermione cocked her head in confusion when Clint signed at her instead of using his earpiece. She touched a finger to her ear, assuring herself it was still there. “Hawkeye, what did you say?” Before Clint, she’d never had a reason to learn Sign Language, much less the  _ American _ version. 

Now that she practically lived with him, it was something she was trying to master. Often, when there was nothing for them to do and Clint didn’t feel like leaving his apartment, he’d take off his aids. He could read lips better than anyone she knew, and could still partially hear, but he liked to sign everything when they were gone. He’d delighted in teaching Hermione the basics, the two often spending a few hours on their off days sitting on the couch and practicing. She’d believed she was getting a handle on it, but he’d moved his hands too quickly for her to understand.

She couldn’t exactly shout at him either. They were located on opposite sides of a large room, hidden by shadows on the third floor of the building. Hermione had been disillusioned earlier and had hidden a recording device under a notice-me-not charm. It had taken her weeks to get the charm right onto the gadget without frying it. She hoped it was holding up now. 

Clint signed again, slower this time. Hermione narrowed her eyes, making out the movements and translating as she went.  _ Comms are out, hearing gone. _

Bollocks. Hermione took out her earpiece and looked at it in disgust. She’d pecked Clint playfully on his cheek while under the disillusionment charm. Had her magic destroyed the pieces then? She’d have to work the charms on his hearing aids at least, lest the poor man spend forever without control of his hearing. 

The door opened, surprising Hermione as the table was full. She stiffened when she recognized the form of Blaise Zabini casually strolling through, briefcase in hand. The head of the table stood to greet him, clapping him on the back like an old friend. Double bollocks. There had been no mention of possible Wizards in the mission brief.

The man hadn’t changed much; tall, good looking, and every inch a Pureblood scion. His magic was obvious in a room of Muggles. Hermione faded further into the shadow of her corner, willing her magic to mask itself as much as it could. Anyone who’d gone to school together for as long as they did would recognize the feel of their magic if they concentrated hard enough. Blaise couldn’t recognize her seeing as she wasn’t supposed to be there in the first place.

There was another dilemma. If Blaise revealed magic to these people, he was in violation of the Statute. Whatever was recorded would make its way back to Fury. She was duty-bound to arrest him and oath-bound to ensure SHIELD found out nothing devastating. For the love of Merlin, what was he even doing here? 

Hermione took out her wand and found Clint watching her, his eyes narrow. She held up her wand before pointing her free hand at Blaise. Clint’s head turned fast, his gaze now trained on the former Slytherin. He looked at her once, incredulously, but Hermione nodded and he turned back again. 

“I’m going to ensure we’re alone before we begin. You can never be too careful.”

Hermione sucked in a break, turning on her heel and apparating to Clint. She pressed against the surprised Archer, whispering a spell under her breath before Blaise’s magic made its way to their location. She didn’t move, almost didn’t breathe, as she waited to see if they’d be discovered.

The spell she’d used had been invented by Moody and kept under Order lock and key for stakeouts, a direct countermeasure to the spell used to reveal human presence. Kingsley had shown it to Hermione, Harry, and Ron when they’d graduated as Auror’s with strict instructions it be kept secret to all but Order members. Hermione was the one to use it the most on account of her being sent out into the field more than the other two. 

Clint’s bow rested against her back, his arms holding her securely. He didn’t try to get an explanation from here, but his body was alert, his lips pressed into a thin line. When nobody called out an alarm, Hermione relaxed. 

“This was placed under a strong enough charm, I almost didn’t feel it.” Hermione turned disbelieving eyes on the scene, watching as Blaise held her recording device in his hand. “Someone else with magic is here, and they feel familiar…” He frowned down at the recorder, furrowing his brow for a few seconds before his eyes lit up in understanding. “Granger?” He grinned. “Come out, come out.”

Hermione wanted to punch that smirk off his face like she’d done Malfoy in third year. She faced Clint, signing  _ cover me _ before she walked a bit away from him and revealed herself. She glared down at the pleased looking man. “If you wanted to be arrested so badly, you could have just said so.”

Blaise spread his arms wide in welcome, though Hermione noticed his wand held tightly in his hand. Every person at the table had turned her way, leveling guns in her direction. “Long way from home, aren’t you? You have no power here, Miss Auror.”

“You don’t think so?” She gave him a look that had irritated many back in school; it made them feel like they were missing something, that she knew what they didn’t. “Why else would I be here then?”

Blaise’s grin wavered slightly, but it held even as his eyes hardened. “Why are you here? No one’s seen you back home in almost two years.”

Hermione read the room, seeing the way the man next to Blaise darted his eyes between them. These people had twitchy fingers. She could tell in the way their pointer fingers kept darting to the trigger, as if they wanted to pull but had to wait for the order. There were Auror’s like that, and they never did well in delicate situations. 

Hermione was confident in her abilities as a Witch, but she had yet to test if her standard shield could withstand a hail of bullets.

Making a decision, she spun on her heel again and apparated next to Blaise. She appeared with her wand trained on him. He didn’t lift his, hand coming up to stop the man next to him from removing his hand from his coat. She willed Clint to read the situation. The mission had failed as soon as Blaise recognized her magical signature. She needed to get that recorder, and Blaise, away from the situation before they could do any damage. 

“Breaking the Statute is a hefty crime, Zabini.” Hermione shrugged, struggling to appear nonchalant. “But I won’t bring you in if you give me the device you found.”

Blaise scoffed, “Goody Granger is willing to let the law slide for a Slytherin? I don’t buy it.”

She lifted a brow and made a face as if amused. “Don’t make me bring you in. We both know your lawyers won’t get you out of this easily, and we’ll both have headaches by the end of the night.”

“Do you think you’re that good, you can take me on?” He titled his head, studying her. “We never did duel in school.”

“Given my reputation, do you think I  _ can’t _ disarm and bind you?”

Blaise seemed to consider that before shrugging. “Fair enough. You’ll be gunned down before you get a chance though. That’s the bad thing about our society. We haven’t made new spells to accommodate Muggle advancement. Your shield won’t stand a chance.”

Hermione wasn’t interested in testing if he was right. She should summon the recorder and apparate back to Clint before escaping. She could track down Zabini later, preferably before he went back to Britain. 

She saw someone in her peripherals move the slightest bit towards her, his gun starting to raise into a better targeting position. 

An arrow speared his head before he got the chance to do much else. The man dropped to the floor, gun clanging next to his body. It was a clean hit, blood and other matter spilling onto the tile. 

Everyone immediately jerked towards the direction it’d come from. Hermione didn’t waste time cursing, summoning the recorder from the table and pocketing it. Blaise whirled back around, blue light leaving his wand as gunshots echoed through the room. Hermione raised her shield, praying Clint had enough cover where he was at. Zabini kept throwing low-powered spells in her direction, while the man behind him shot methodically at her shield. Everyone else was aiming for Clint, and every few seconds, she heard a pained cry come from the table.

Finally, Blaise yelled something she didn’t hear over all the noise around her. A bright orange light left his wand in one big burst, his legs stumbling back from the force. The spell hit Hermione’s shield, devastating it and forcing her leg to crumble from beneath her as she tried to keep it up. It shattered entirely when a bullet hit the exact same spot, her defense taking too much damage. Hermione flew back, landing on her side and struggling to catch her breath.

Blaise started towards her, but he yelled out when an arrow pierced his shoulder. His wand dropped to the ground, his face paling as blood dripped from the wound. 

Hermione weakly summoned his wand to her, using the last of her magic to apparate to Clint. He didn’t jump when she appeared on the ground next to him, shifting his stance in front of her as if protecting her. Ensuring that the orange spell hadn’t hit her had taken almost everything she had. The power behind it must have been born from desperation, or maybe Blaise had thought he could will his magic past hers. 

Clint ducked, a bullet traveling past where he’d just been standing. He jerked his head towards the door he’d come through to get up here. Hermione nodded and started crawling, Clint popping up and shooting once more before following her. He grabbed her hand when they were both through, tugging her along as he led them down the flights of stairs and to the side room they were located in. Hermione could hear furious shouting as they left, and the faint slam of a door before she stopped hearing anything at all.

The room they ended up in looked like a sitting room, complete with a seating area and a cart used for refreshments. Clint took them to the largest window, releasing her hand to bash the glass with his bow. He cleared it away as quickly as he could, looking back to the door as he ushered her through. Hermione hissed when small bits of glass cut into her palm. She turned once she was out, intending to rub any blood away with her sleeve, but Clint pushed through and made her run. 

Hermione forced her legs to keep up with Clint. She couldn’t look back, didn’t bother to see if they were leaving an easy trail to pick up. They’d been on private property and the area behind her was lighting up fast. 

Her breathing was ragged by the time they made it to the Quinjet hidden on the far side of the estate. Clint hit the release for the door and ran up the ramp. Hermione took Zabini’s wand out of her pocket. She was surprised to see it was Acacia, a wood she knew was known for its difficulty in producing magic. Blaise must be a gifted Wizard to possess it. It explained the powerful spell he’d sent her way.

It also meant it’d be of no use to her. Wands of this type were ridiculously loyal to their owners. 

Hermione broke it in half, throwing it on the ground and walking up the ramp. She closed it, walking over to the co-pilot’s seat. Clint was focusing on the controls, calling in their position and their estimated arrival to headquarters. Hermione noticed the burned-out hearing aids thrown carelessly on the dashboard, a new pair sitting comfortably in his ears. Hermione sunk into the chair, vowing to charm those the first chance she got. 

Clint leaned back in his seat once he’d set them on their course, turning her way and scanning her for injuries. “That couldn’t have gone more wrong if we tried,” he said as he rose from his chair to grab the first aid kit. He opened it, taking out the things he needed to disinfect her cuts. “Fury would have had you erased from normal database searches when you joined SHIELD. They’ll try to match your blood, but it’ll be classified information and SHIELD will be altered to the attempt.”

“I see.” Hermione sighed, “We could have been captured. That would have been worse.”

“Nat’s pessimism has rubbed off on you,” he commented. He carefully went over her hands with tweezers, taking out tiny pieces of glass from her hands. “What are the men called in your world? Warlocks?”

“Wizards.” Hermione winced when he brought out the Peroxide. The liquid always stung. 

“Right. Tell me what happened. Everything shorted out for me.” She looked away guiltily. “You signaled to me that he had magic, but how did you know? Do you know him?”

“No.” The lie slipped easily from her mouth. “I felt his magical signature as soon as he walked into the room. It happens easily when we’re around those without magic. It’s how he knew I was there.”

“Nothing in the mission file mentioned someone with magic. That meant we didn’t know about it.” He lifted her hands to his face, nodding in satisfaction before setting them back on her lap. “What happened once he knew you were there?”

“He used a revealing spell to find me directly, but I apparated to you and applied the counterspell. He found the recorder instead, seeing as I’d inscribed a charm on it and hidden it with simple magic.” She smiled wryly. “He took me by surprise.”

“I saw you try and take it when the fight began. Where is it?”

The recorder felt hot in her pocket, though Hermione knew it was just her guilt mounting up. “It was destroyed in the fight by one of the spells flying around.”

“Damn,” Clint cursed. “Fury’s going to give us hell for it.”

She shrugged. “The circumstances changed in ways we weren’t prepared for. I didn’t realize he was so powerful.” She really hadn’t. Where had all that effort been at Hogwarts? “It took everything I had to keep up with him.”

“You do look tired,” Clint said in concern. He reached up and brushed her hair over her shoulder. “Don’t worry about reporting in. I’ll take care of it.”

Hermione smiled in thanks, letting out a stuttering breath when he leaned forward and kissed her temple before checking something at the controls. The first thing she needed to do when she got the chance was to destroy the tape. If she worked up enough energy by the time they landed, she’d apparate back to her flat and do it then. 

Hermione cursed herself for all kinds of fool when she realized she’d thrown away her best chance for locating Zabini with ease. The wand, if it’d indeed chosen him, would have been a physical connection to the Wizard she could use in a spell. She hadn’t been thinking about that when she’d broken and tossed it, she should have. Her training should have kicked in at that point, but all she’d seen was something that couldn’t be useful to her immediate mind and had gotten rid of it. Like SHIELD had taught her.

Well, there were other ways to locate him. They were harder, more unpredictable, but they were there. What could not happen was the mouthy Pureblood to go babbling about seeing her. While she was sure he wouldn’t give anyone the full story, this particular Wizard had a knack for spinning a tale to suit his purposes. 

When they finally landed, Hermione gave Clint a sleepy kiss, only feigning some of her exhaustion as she apparated from the Quinjet. She stumbled into the living room of her flat, sitting heavily on the couch before her legs gave out on her. She took the small device from her pocket, setting it on the tea table and touching the tip of her wand to the durable plastic.

_ I trust you _ .

Banishing those words from her mind, Hermione muttered, “Deletrius.” 

* * *

She was alone in Suriname, a small coastal state in South America. Neither Clint nor Nat were with her, despite Clint’s objections to her going alone. She didn’t know what they’d done to earn a bad reputation along this particular coastline, but Fury was adamant their identities were too easily recognizable. 

Hermione, on the other hand, was completely unassuming as she made her way to a fairly popular local restaurant. Tourism wasn’t huge, so Hermione had dressed like the locals. Lightweight clothing covered her form, and the sandals on her feet had been purchased from a vendor the next town over. They were in the dry season of the state’s climate, but Hermione carried a poncho shrunk into her pocket just in case the weather turned.

Except for a few curious glances, nobody paid attention to her as she walked. She was there to meet an informant, one who would give her information that wasn’t stored on computers. She hadn’t flown here as was the norm when they were sent out on assignment. Her magic wreaked havoc on the Quinjet’s controls whenever she so much as touched a control, and the charm Hermione had been using on other technology hadn’t worked. She thought it was due to the size and the invisibility hardware built in. As she wasn’t a fan of flying in the first place, she hadn’t tried to experiment. Instead, she’d apparated to where she’d bought her shoes and hitched a ride to Suriname. 

For the state going through very little rain at the moment, the air was still humid. She could feel her hair soaking up the moisture under its confinement. Hermione knew if she let down her braid, the curls would spring free as if given new life. No amount of taming would work once that happened. 

She really was curious as to what her team had done to essentially be banished from this area. The locals were friendly enough, the atmosphere happy and relaxed. There was a mix of races and ethnicities, different languages flying about as people chatted. Someone laughed, wheezing something out that sounded foreign but familiar while their companion responded in English. 

Hermione clutched her unseen necklace, mind wandering as she blended with the crowds. There were rumors of a hidden well of power, suspected to be hidden in the jungle. Most suspected it was a magical artifact, most likely a staff, sealed away because no one had proven worthy of its power. It was guarded by a person, a ghost? The accounts were different, but she knew they needed to be defeated to be proven worthy of the power they protected. Hermione started pondering the thought of going after it. Maybe they could use this power to take down Dolohov once and for all. 

It wasn’t until she bumped into someone that she realized she’d turned in the opposite direction of her destination. She frowned, her previous thoughts confusing her. The information was in her head, but she couldn't recall where she’d read it. That wasn’t right. Hermione had done research on Suriname before coming here, and she could have sworn she’d learned the closest traces of a magic settlement was three states over.

Maybe she just didn’t remember, she told herself. The power she could gain from this would benefit everyone. She wouldn't have to hide anymore. She could take Clint home to meet her family. Harry was getting nowhere the last she’d checked, and if she left it to him, she’d be living a lie for the rest of her life. Ronald would just have to live with it or be removed from the equation. The wand wasn’t even-

Her thoughts screeched to a halt, her legs weakening as she stumbled into a wall. Merlin, oh Merlin, the Elder Wand was here.

Hermione knew she was right when her palm, which still clutched the Resurrection Stone in its grasp, tingled from a low hum of magic faintly pulsing beneath the necklace’s Wards. The last time she’d felt such a sensation was when all three Hallows had been together, right before she’d taken the Portkey to America. 

Her heart, and the strengthening pull of magic, was pulling her to the jungle. Ron was there, in the same area as her. She could see him. Sweet Morgana, she missed him so much. She could see if he’d heard anything else from Harry. She could take the…

Damn it.

It would be nice to talk to him, to be with someone familiar. Hermione knew how hard it must be on him to be away from his family. Ron had always been a big family Wizard. Of course, if she claimed the Wand, then-

Deliberately, Hermione turned away with a disheartened sigh. Her pull to take the Elder Wand was too great. She could feel her magic reacting, like a tug on her core. She knew in her heart that if she sought out Ron, she’d take the wand from him. What was he doing in the jungle anyway? He hated camping the most out of the three of them. 

She forced her feet to walk forward despite the strong desire to go the other way. The make-believe tale played over and over in her mind, trying to tempt her. Her heart beat furiously, aching with the thought of finally seeing someone! 

Her lip trembled. 

* * *

Clint knew something was wrong as soon as he saw her.

Hermione was talking to Fury, her posture as straight as ever. But her eyes were weary and sad. She was making no attempt to hide it. Clint wanted to take her in his arms and spirit her out of there, but he knew that needed to wait until she was done. He  _ knew _ she shouldn’t have gone alone. He’d had a bad feeling from the start, but he’d been overruled by everyone.

He’d never seen her look so unhappy before now.

He leaned against the doorway to Fury’s office, attempting to wait patiently. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, a frown marring his face. The other two ignored him. He wasn’t sure Hermione had noticed his entrance, but he knew Fury had. He’d barely spared him a glance before returning his attention to the Witch.

Clint was on them as soon as Fury jerked his head to the door. Hermione tried to smile at him, but the attempt failed before her lips could pull up. That’s when Clint realized she wasn’t just weary. She was exhausted. Her eyes were only slightly red, but there were dark circles on her skin that weren’t there before she left. She didn’t look hurt from what he could see, but Clint knew that not all wounds came from the physical.

He ignored the Director and pulled her into his arms, gently kissing her forehead. “Let’s get you home.”

Hermione seemed to sag defeatedly at that, but let him lead her from the room. He didn’t press her for answers as they made their escape down a stairwell. He didn’t try to come up with reasons why a routine informant meet-up would leave her like this. His girl was a vault full of secrets she kept locked tight. He knew if he felt like beating his head against a wall, it’d be less harmful to do it for real than try to pry answers from Hermione.

Lucky bounded to them in excitement when they entered his apartment, but subsided with a quick hand gesture from Clint. He made his way over to an old dog bed, curling up and watching in repressed silence.

Hermione looked around finally, as if surfacing from whatever she’d been thinking about on the way over. “This isn’t my flat.”

“I’m closer,” Clint said simply before sitting her down on the faded couch. He didn’t tell her she spent more time here than at her place, so really, it should be home. “How did it go?”

She shrugged. “The meet up was fine.” She showed him a semblance of a grin. “No one told me this guy was a flirt. He tried multiple times to get me to a local party happening that night.”

Clint played along, giving her a self-assured grin of his own. “And of course, you told him you had a handsome assassin waiting for you to come back.”

Hermione frowned over at Lucky, considering. “He’s handsome, I’m not going to lie. But I don’t think it’s fair to call him a killer.”

Clint’s grin fell, narrowing his eyes at the slight light that had entered hers. He used one arm to grab her around the side, his other hand coming up and tickling her in the side. She shrieked with laughter, twisting and turning to try and get away from him. Lucky barked and jumped from his space, barreling over to them and trying to lick the two of them as they wrestled. He finally slowed his assault after a bit. “Remember me now?” Clint demanded an answer, his hand ready to pick back up where they’d left off.

“How could I forget?” Hermione replied breathlessly. She sat up, her teasing eyes meeting his before the light slowly died again. She looked at her lap.

Clint gathered her close. “Come on, Baby. Tell me what’s wrong?”

She opened her mouth several times, closing her lips before she said anything. Her hand reached up to her neck and closed in a fist. Clint was confused at the gesture, but he only rubbed her upper arm. “I miss home,” she whispered.

Clint absorbed that one statement, knowing he had to tread carefully. She never really talked about home, it was one of those topics she kept in that vault. He had a feeling that if he pried now, she might tell him something. He knew how to take advantage of an opportunity when he had one. Yet, that was exactly what he’d be doing; taking advantage of her emotional vulnerability. Would she regret telling him later? What if he heard something he didn’t know how to react to?

Instead, he took a shot and lifted her chin so that her eyes met his. “Move in with me.”

Her mouth shot open. “What?”

“You spend all your time here anyway. You know I don’t mind all the magic stuff you have around your place.” He leaned down and softly pecked her lips, rubbing the tips of their noses together. “Move in with me. Let this place be your home.”

Her eyes fell. “Clint…”

He shook his head. “No, don’t do that. Look at me.” She did, her expression wary. “Can you go home now?”

“No,” she said slowly. “But-”

“Okay, so you can’t go home. Then you make a new one.” Clint kissed her harder, pouring all the feelings his heart had built up at that moment. He pulled back, pleased to see the deep sadness was starting to turn around. Her eyes were hesitant but there were no signs of rejection, not yet. “I want you to make it with me. I love you.”

Hermione sucked in a breath. She stared at him, peering into his eyes as if she could discern what he was truly thinking. Clint didn’t blink, wanting her to see the truth of what he said. Her eyes watered and she closed her eyes. “I love you too.”

Tears, and not happy ones, were not the reaction he was going for. But Clint didn’t let that dissuade him. He let go of her chin and pushed her head gently so that she rested against his chest. “Then we follow the next logical step of two people in love and move in together. Okay?”

Hermione didn’t say anything, but he felt the slight nod against his skin.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge shout out to S.Joan and thescarletphoenixx for their work on this story!

Hermione scowled at the machine in her hand. She hated guns. In fact, in the four years since she’d joined SHIELD, she’d never had to fire one. Yet, every two years, all agents were forced to take a requalification exam. She didn’t see the point in it. She was actually the anomaly in this situation. Most agents fired their weapon enough that this regulation was a joke. 

She _could_ confound the person overseeing the testing into passing her, but Clint had made it a point to let her know he’d be watching from the rafters. How that man enjoyed being so _high_ up she would never know, but he’d know she cheated. He probably wouldn’t tell on her, but then he’d simply make her go through his own version of this exam. He remained adamant that she have a backup to her magic, despite Hermione never needing it. 

She might as well get it over with. 

She cursed under her breath when her arm jerked and sent her first shot to another target. She swore she’d never get used to the jolt that passed from her hand and down her arms when she shot a gun. She did it again, catching the attention of the agent next to her who sent her a mildly disapproving look.

Who needed guns anyway? For Merlin’s sake, _she_ was a weapon herself.

It took her two hours to get the green light, but once she did Hermione hightailed it out of the range. She took the stairs to the floor that held the training mats and snuck into the break room. No one really used this room, most in favor of the showers also located on this floor and the bigger, more equipped, lunch area one floor down. Clint and Nat liked to hide from Fury in here when they did something he wasn’t going to like.

As if he’d been summoned, Clint opened the door and slid in before locking it. His shoulders shook with laughter upon seeing her. “Man, four years and you’re still terrible.”

Hermione wasn’t impressed. “Laugh it up, Barton. I’d like to see you cast and maintain an illusion for six hours.” One of the things she appreciated about this job was that she always had a chance to exercise her magic. That feat had left her exhausted for a few days after.

“Ah, but I’m just a lowly human. Whereas you have no excuse, my beautiful Witch.” Clint laughed again when she visibly took a breath, eyes narrowing. He scooped her up in his arms, planting a quick kiss on her lips that turned into more before he could pull away. “At least you won’t have to worry for another two years,” he murmured.

Would she still be here in two years? Hermione dismissed the thought as soon as it popped up. She found she did better when she didn’t think of home. Six months ago, the Prophet had announced Harry and Ginny’s third pregnancy announcement. The sight of a growing James and Albus, Harry looking a little older, and Ginny sporting a shorter hairdo forced Hermione to stop keeping up with the paper altogether. It’d been four years since she’d seen anyone, and thoughts of what she’d missed sent her into bouts of depression.

So she didn’t think about the question, and wound her arms around his neck, widening her stance so that Clint could step between her legs. One of his hands traveled to her hair, fingers tangling in the wild curls, his other hand rubbing small circles into her lower back. He always did this when they came together like this. Hermione loved it. They always fought with her hair after, the strands often painfully twisted around his fingers. Hermione wouldn’t have it any other way.

A throat cleared.

Hermione made a small questioning noise, but Clint ignored whoever was there. 

“Cute.”

Hermione opened her eyes at Nat’s voice. Clint grinned against her lips before pulling away. 

Natasha leaned against the wall. She was watching them with an amused look on her face, dressed in the protective pantsuit she wore on assignment. “Sorry to break up your love fest, but Fury needs us to leave right away.”

Clint frowned. “I told Fury we were taking time after Hermione finished her exam. We’re now off the clock.”

Hermione raised a surprised brow. “Really? When was I going to hear about this?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, shooting Nat a look. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

Natasha had the sense to shrug apologetically. “One of our own was undercover in London, but she’s been compromised. No one can reach her. We need to extract her before she’s killed.”

Clint swore under his breath, body losing its relaxed stance and going alert. Hermione paled. “London?”

Natasha sent Clint a knowing look though Hermione wasn’t paying attention. “Yes. Fury thinks your magic will especially come in handy with this one.”

“I see,” Hermione whispered weakly. She felt lightheaded, her ears starting to ring with startling clarity. “I…” She saw spots, pinpricks of black multiplying in front of her.

Then she was being shoved into a chair, head pushed between her knees. Strong, calloused, hands were running down her hair and over her back. Someone was instructing her to take deep breaths, but it was like hearing someone while underwater. Her ears were still ringing, the noise a constant chime in her head.

She couldn’t go back, she thought. 

Eventually, the urge to breathe overrode her inner panic. She sucked in a large breath, choking slightly with how fast she’d done it. The same hands started gently patting her on the back. Her hearing slowly returned to normal, Hermione able to hear Natasha asking if she was alright.

“I don’t feel good,” she said. It wasn’t a lie. Just the thought of being that close to home was making her sick. 

Clint knelt in front of her. Her vision was clear enough to see him when he lifted her face with both palms on her cheeks. It wasn’t until he swiped at her skin with his thumb that Hermione realized she was crying. “I’m going to take you home.”

Hermione gave a single acknowledging nod, letting him stand her up. “The mission…”

“We’ll take care of it,” he reassured her. “You’re going to lay in bed with Lucky to comfort you until I get back.”

Hermione didn’t know how she felt about that. Since joining SHIELD, Clint and Hermione hardly spent time apart. There were the occasional times she didn’t go in the field with them, but Hermione always ended up on communications in the Quinjet as backup. 

But she couldn’t go back.

London, even Muggle London, was too close to the hub of Britain’s magic for her to be safe from others discovering she was there. How long could she hold a masking spell on her signature while helping the compromised agent? She’d never tried. She couldn’t risk it.

“Okay,” she whispered. She could feel Natasha’s stare on her as Clint led her out of the room, but Hermione didn’t look back.

* * *

She made the right decision.

Hermione knew that and yet she was a panicked mess the week Clint was gone. Lucky had picked up on her mood right away, but his usual attempts at cheering were ineffectual. How long did it take to extract a compromised agent? Where _exactly_ in London were they? She knew from her time doing her job as an Auror that the crime nation of the Wizarding World didn’t stick to magical areas to conduct their business. Muggle locations, even companies, were often thrown into the mix. 

She should have tried to mask herself. She should have been there with them. SHIELD knew almost nothing about her world. They wouldn’t know they were spying on Wizards until it was too late. Clint and Natasha were good, but even they couldn’t take out a slew of spells coming their way before it was too late.

But she couldn’t have gone. It was out of the question, too risky. She _knew_ that.

She hated this feeling. 

So when Clint pushed the door open, Hermione threw herself into his arms before he even got a chance to set his go-bag on the ground. 

“Whoa,” he exclaimed. He reached down to give a subdued Lucky a quick head rub, keeping one arm around Hermione. “I thought I told you to stay in bed with our dog.”

“That was a week ago,” she told him. She buried her face in his neck, not caring that he smelled of sweat and gunpowder. “A week of not knowing what was going on. A week of knowing I should have gone with you.”

Clint pulled back with a frown. “You weren’t feeling well,” he reminded her. “You would have been no use like that, and things ended up being complicated enough without me worrying if you were going to faint in the middle of a firefight.”

Hermione nodded in resignation. “I know, I know. I just…”

Slowly, Clint grinned. “It’s okay to say you were worried for me. It’s cute.”

The way he said it, with his tongue in cheek and a teasing lilt to his tone, had her scowling. “I don’t know why I even gave you another moment’s thought. Obviously, you’re fine. There’s not even a scratch on you.”

“Now, don’t say that.” Clint rubbed a hand over his heart. “I’m savoring the feeling of someone other than Nat caring if I live or die. I might mark this day on my calendar.”

His response made her blush and feel sad on his behalf at the same time. It was a weird feeling in her chest, one emotion warring with the other. In the end, she simply shook her head and leaned in to kiss him. “Well, I’m glad you’re home. I’m afraid I was poor company for the dog.”

Clint didn’t let her pull away, settling his lips against hers. “Mmm, don’t be ridiculous, Lucky loves you.”

“He loves anyone that will feed him.” Hermione laughed when he deepened their light kiss, his hands slipping under her jumper. “No, you need a shower before I let you take me to bed.”

“Come shower with me.”

“I already had mine.” She cupped his cheeks and kissed him hard before disentangling herself from his wandering hands. “How about you go shower, and I’ll put some pasta on. Knowing you, you came straight here and haven’t eaten.”

Clint groaned in appreciation. “Woman, you are too good to me.”

Hermione took the time to settle as she went through the motions of putting a meal together. She could hear the water running, imagined Clint’s immediate relief as he stepped under the spray. The man would have the temperature set to blistering, and he’d spend a good ten minutes just soaking it all in before he began to move. 

She figured that gave her enough time to lock her initial panic away. He’d made it back safely, with next to no injuries that she could see. That wouldn’t have been the case if he’d run into a group from her world. Complicated could mean many things, but if they’d been unsuccessful in extracting the agent, he’d be a lot more subdued. 

Everything was okay.

It was another reason she couldn’t think about home anymore; these feelings of anxiety and panic that often left her moody at best or sleeping for hours at worse. It’d started after her confrontation with Blaise, and her inability to track him down that followed. She’d expected Kingsley to call her, angry. She’d expected to be ordered home. When none of that happened, she feared he’d immediately go to the Prophet. That hadn’t happened either. Then there was the likely scenario; he’d saved it as a conversation piece for the stuffy parties Purebloods often held.

The unknown caused her to feel things she was used to controlling. It made her paranoid, causing her to limit her contact with the Wizarding World as much as she could. There were times that she swore, _swore_ , she could feel the burning tingle of her scar. But with that came her bout of anxiety, and Hermione knew it was nothing but her mind playing tricks on her. 

She’d thrown herself into making a life with Clint. When the lease on his flat came up, they signed the renewal contract together. She’d shown him some of her old school textbooks, explaining more of the subjects in depth so that he could understand what she could do more. She’d shown him her Patronus; letting the otter spin lazily around him and soaking him in warmth. He’d given her a single day of lessons with his precious bow and had changed Lucky’s chip information to include both of them.

Hermione knew there really was no going back for either of them once he’d done that. 

She longed for the day that she could go home and take Clint with her. He’d fit in well with her family. She wanted to be able to tell him everything about her, nothing held back. 

But as that wasn’t a possibility, Hermione pretended her life started when she’d come to America. Only her necklace was a constant reminder of her life before but keeping it disillusioned allowed her to forget about it around others. And when she was by herself and felt the pull that managed to slip past the Wards she’d weaved? Well, she didn’t like to think about that either.

Hermione was setting a beer next to Clint’s plate, already pouring a glass of wine for herself, when she heard shifting at the entrance to the kitchen. Clint was leaning against the frame, arms crossed as he watched her set the table. He was dressed in fresh jeans and a shirt, his feet bare and hair still damp. She sent him an amused look, having caught him watching her plenty of times whenever she did anything even remotely domestic. “Are you going to come in or am I eating by myself?”

“Just enjoying the view.” He straightened, walking towards her and giving her a kiss they lingered over before he sat down. “This looks good.” 

Hermione watched as he forked up a bite before doing the same herself. “Is the agent alright?”

“A little bruised.” He grimaced. “Well, a lot bruised, but more embarrassed she had to be extracted. Can you believe she argued with us? She wanted to get into their computer setup and download everything before we left.” His voice took on a whining tone. “We were being shot at and everything. It was like talking to another Nat.”

She shook her head, letting out a chuckle. “Can you blame her? SHIELD breeds barmy. How many times have we needed to physically pull you from your hole?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he grumbled. He looked at her, finishing the pasta he’d started to chew before using his free hand to reach for hers. “Hermione, I need to know. Are you happy?”

Hermione stopped bringing her fork to her mouth, setting it back down on her plate. Her eyebrows lowered, confusion on her face. “With you? Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

He nodded, letting go of her hand and wiping his palms on his jeans. “I’d planned to take you somewhere for this, but right now seems good too. Hell, maybe it’s not and I’m just being impatient.”

She blinked, trying to figure out what was going in. “What are you…” She trailed off as he got out of his chair and knelt beside her, his hands grabbing her own. Her throat was dry suddenly, making it more of an effort for her to speak. “Clint?”

He took a deep breath. “You love me. I love you. We’re both happy. I think we both know the next logical step in this story.”

Her heart pounded in her chest, the world becoming hot around her. Or was that just her? “I…”

“Hermione, the moment I met you I just knew. I knew you were it when you gave me your opinion on my apparent rudeness. I had to get to know you, and the more I did, the more this feeling of right grew in my chest. I don’t know what I’d do without you anymore.” He pulled it out of nowhere, a pretty ring that he held up to her. “Will you marry me?”

Hermione looked at the ring being presented to her, thoughts jumbling together as she thought about what to say. The band was stunning; white-gold, and decorated in swirling lines that branched out into small gem-covered leaves. The lines tangled together in the middle, a diamond resting in its center. Hermione realized they were vines.

“I don’t know what possessed me to choose this one,” Clint told her nervously. “I just saw it one day and thought it was the one for you.”

How? How had she found someone so utterly perfect for her? In any other life, she’d be jumping into his arms with no hesitation. Even now, she wanted to do just that. She wanted to make them both happy, but marriage was different. She couldn’t enter into vows with anyone while living a lie. Merlin, she loved him, so much. 

But now she had to break both their hearts.

Closing her hand over his, she pushed the ring back to him. “Clint… I love you, but I can’t marry you. I’m sorry.”

His mouth dropped, eyes widening as if he hadn’t expected that answer. “What?”

Her eyes started to water. “I can’t marry you right now.”

“Can’t,” he whispered to himself.

Hermione pulled away, wrapping her arms around her stomach. “I wish I could explain-”

“There’s nothing to explain,” he told her as he stood. “I asked you to marry me and you said no.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” she insisted, standing up too. “There’s just too many things you don’t know. There are things I can’t explain.”

“Why can’t you?” Clint threw the question out there. He ran a hand over his hair and down his face. “Baby, I’ve tried being patient. For four years, I’ve known there was more to you than anyone knew. I haven’t pushed, I’ve respected this…boundary you set between us.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” she tried to explain. “There are certain things-”

“You don’t think I’d understand?” Clint laughed harshly, shaking his head. “Okay, let me tell you what I do know. I know there was more in the initial file Fury dug up on you that he decided not to tell you about. I know you disappeared for long periods as a kid, and that your parents died under different identities. I _know_ that Wizard you fought two years ago recognized you. I can read lips better than anyone. He called you by your last name, and he said no one had seen you for a while. I know you put that damn recorder in your pocket, and that it stayed there.”

His words shot out like bullets, carelessly fracturing the lie Hermione had surrounded them in. All this time… “Why didn’t you say anything?” she asked quietly.

He gave her a sad look. “Because I wanted you to come to me, Hermione. I wanted you to trust me.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “You say I won’t understand, but I thought you knew me enough to know I’d try. And even if I didn’t, that wouldn’t change us.”

The tears spilled over. “That’s not it at all, Clint. I love you.”

“I love you too.” He didn’t move to go to her. “But I can’t accept not being as entangled in your life as you are in mine, not anymore.”

“I can’t start our marriage on a lie.” Hermione looked down at the floor, finding a single spot on the tile and focusing on it. “I won’t do that to you.”

“You don’t have to.”

She didn’t say anything, knowing even now that her promises came before anything else.

“Then there’s nothing more to say.”

Hermione slid to the floor on a sob, knees drawn up to her chest, when the door slammed shut. 

* * *

Hermione wasn’t sure how long she’d been in that spot, but the first rays of a new day shone through the tiny kitchen window when she finally got up from the floor. She’d cried for a long time, calling herself every manner of stupid for not going after Clint. Merlin, he was right. He’d integrated her so completely into his life while she kept him at a distance. Perhaps if she explained a little bit more without giving details, it’d be enough for him.

Her shoulders slumped as soon as the thought came through. Who was she kidding? He’d laid down the ultimatum; it was all or nothing. 

Her stomach burned at that moment, an intense sensation that traveled from her scar and up her chest. Hermione breathed through it, chanting _not now_ over and over in her head. The panic spread through her as her anxiety ramped up. _Not now_ . She knew her breathing was starting to come faster, she could feel it in the way her lungs stung. _Please not now._

Lucky barked in the other room, his snarls a reminder that she wasn’t alone. It helped focus her a little, the searing feeling fading almost as quickly as it’d come. She concentrated on breathing properly, knowing she could have passed out if she hadn’t come back down from the almost-attack. Lucky was still growling, the behavior unnatural when they were in the flat.

Cautious, Hermione walked to the other room. Lucky was crouched by the door, fur bristling as he continued to make menacing sounds. “Lucky,” she called out to him gently. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t face her. Whatever was outside the door had his full attention.

She slipped her wand into her hand, silencing her steps before making her way to the door. Mentally preparing herself, Hermione tightened her grip on her wand before opening the door and aiming her wand.

No one was there.

Glancing down, she saw them. Red and pink with white around the stems, they lay on the ground wrapped in moving paper. Hermione picked up the Carnations in disbelief, her mind trying to make sense of what she saw. Lucky was still growling, his body pressed against her leg. 

Quickly, she closed the door, warding it against entry entirely. She tossed the flowers onto the couch, stepping back as if they were cursed. How? How did he find her? What game was he playing, sending her these? She searched her mind for the date, realizing today was the anniversary of her Auror graduation. Her first clenched. That bloody bastard. 

Her scar had burned. Hermione laid a hand over her abdomen. He’d been here, right outside her flat. She could have fought him today, ended it all, if she’d listened to what it meant. Everything could have gone back to normal today! She stomped her foot in frustration, mad at him and herself.

Her shoe made contact with paper, the crumpling sound barely heard against the dog’s persistent noise. 

It was a card that normally came with ordered flowers, one without ornamentation or anything that might have detailed what it was for. She opened it with trepidation, expecting something along the lines of Dolohov’s manic teasing. 

_Moi soboleznovaniya, Kotyonok._

She’d studied the Russian language a bit, back when she was still trying to track Dolohov down. He’d had a nasty habit of casting all his magic in his native tongue, and Hermione never wanted to be surprised again. With years of disuse, her passing knowledge was rusty, but she was able to put the words together after a bit. _My condolences, Kitten_.

What did that mean?

Hermione’s gaze moved back to the flowers lying harmlessly on the couch. She scrambled for them, ripping the moving paper from the bundle. It was a sheet from the Prophet, dated this morning with a single story taking up the entire page.

**BOY-WHO-LIVED KILLED IN ACTION**

Hermione read the title again, not understanding what she was seeing. There was only one Wizard dubbed the Boy-Who-Lived. Harry couldn’t have possibly been killed in action. Not Harry. He was one of the greatest fighters she knew. The Prophet was wrong was all. They were spouting drivel to bump up readership. They couldn’t be trusted anyway.

Not Harry. Not Harry. Not Harry.

Her eyes blurred when she looked at the picture accompanying the article. A grim Kingsley Shacklebolt was covering a body with a sheet. Before the camera lost sight entirely, one could make out a familiar messy head of hair. The motion repeated over and over. Hermione strained her eyes studying every detail of that partial picture. Was that a scar, just peeking out from parted bangs?

No, it wasn’t. Because Harry wasn’t dead. This wasn’t him. 

She swiped at her face furiously, scolding herself for ever believing anything that came from the Prophet. The man was about to have his third child, for Merlin’s sake. He probably had his family sequestered away to escape the press, and they were making fabrications to cause panic and force him to come out in public. The nerve! Honestly, someone needed to inform Ron before he saw this and lost his mind.

She’d call Kingsley right now and tell him that entire newspaper needed to be shut down once and for all. 

Lucky was no longer growling, his tongue swiping up her wet face hesitantly. Hermione wrapped an arm around his neck, soaking his fur with tears as she pulled out the flip phone hidden on her at all times. She pressed his speed dial, curling around the dog as if he could protect her from this nightmare.

“Hermione.”

She heard it in his tone, the weariness, the grief. “Kings,” she breathed out. “Please…”

He sighed, “I’m sorry. There are reports of him dueling someone in Diagon Alley without backup last night when only the residents were there in their flats. I confirmed it was him myself.” He paused. “His cloak is missing.”

Hermione let out a pained noise, letting go of Lucky and curling into a fetal position. 

“I’m officially ordering you home, Hermione.” Kingsley forged on while she cried. “Dolohov’s making his move, and I need all of my Auror’s for this fight.” He sighed again, his official voice softening until one could hear the grief. “We lost one of the finest people I’ve had the pleasure of knowing. Come home before it happens again.”

She let the phone drop to the ground. She didn’t move from her position on the floor, ignoring the soft whine next to her. She’d thought she’d had her heart torn out last night, but she’d been wrong. Harry was dead. _Dead_. The simple phrase sounded like a used-up joke. Any second she was expecting Kingsley to call her back, and tell her they’d been wrong. Of course Harry had survived another attempt on his life, it was what he was known for.

She’d told him not to die.

Her heart pounded faster as grief gave way to fury. What was he thinking? Why did he never listen to her? Why? He _always_ did this, thinking he had to face things alone. What good was his Merlin-Be-Damed hero complex going to do for his family? He had an entire department of Auror’s at his disposal, spells to call for assistance. There were ways to _avoid_ ending up dueling for your life alone.

Angry tears, mourning ones, soaked her face once more. Damn it, Harry! Damn it!

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge shout out to S.Joan and thescarletphoenixx for their work on this story!

Hermione grasped Lucky’s leash as she stepped into the Triskelion, duffel bag over her shoulder. She’d woken on the floor of the flat with the dog’s head resting on her side, body aching and mind confused. She’d only been out for a few hours, but they weren’t enough to forget what’d been done. Harry was dead.

She was numb the entire time she packed her things. It was as if crying had drained all the feeling out of her, leaving her empty. She didn’t think of anything as she meticulously loaded four years of her life into one magically enhanced bag. It wasn’t until she was ready to create an illegal international Portkey that she remembered Lucky and Clint.

He hadn’t come back. Hermione wouldn’t even know what to say to him at this point. Everything had changed. Yet, she couldn’t leave without ensuring Lucky was taken care of. So she decided to take him to Director Fury. She hadn’t realized until now that she had no clue where Natasha lived. Every time they’d gotten together, it had been at Clint’s. 

She took the stairwell as soon as she got to it. Everyone knew Lucky apparently, and she’d been approached at least five times for people to pet him before she’d escaped. Hermione would have found it amusing, maybe a little exasperating, if she hadn’t been dead inside. As it was, she couldn’t even summon up irritation whenever she was forced to stop and make quick conversation. She didn’t even know what they talked about. Coming up with appropriate small talk was too much effort.

The only reason she vaguely realized Clint and Natasha were with Director Fury was because the dog slipped from her pull in excitement as soon as she entered his office. There was only one person he did that for. Hermione didn’t look at him, didn’t turn to see if he was looking at her. She marched up to Fury, stopping in front of the desk that separated them. “It’s time.”

“I see,” Fury said simply. He studied her. For the first time, Hermione realized how she must look. She hadn’t showered or done anything with her hair, her clothes were wrinkled beyond hope, and her face was probably one red blob. “Will you be back?”

“Probably not.” She inclined her head. “Though, if I can, I can see that MACUSA gets word that I think this experiment is worthwhile.”

“So that’s it? You’re just going to leave without a thought.”

It wasn’t him that had spoken, but her. Hermione forced herself to face them. Clint wasn’t looking at her, kneeling on the ground and giving his attention to the dog. It was Natasha asking, her voice hard. Hermione wished she could drum up some remorse, regret, _anything_. “I have no choice in the matter. I need to get home. I’m not sure what will happen after that.”

Natasha scoffed, stalking up to her and poking a finger in Hermione’s chest. “Just the thought of going into British territory had you sick. Now you can’t wait to go back there.”

“Yes.”

“What a load of…” Natasha trailed off when the tone of Hermione’s voice made it through. “What happened?”

“Things that shouldn’t have,” Hermione replied. Harry was dead. Dolohov knew where she was. The plan had failed. It’d been for nothing. She could feel something starting to stir in her chest. Her voice caught. “I…”

Clint finally looked up, standing up in alarm. “This isn’t about last night.”

“No.” The urge to scream and cry in the safety of his arms was building. No. No! That wouldn’t do anyone good. She needed the numbness. “It’s what happened after.” She shook her head. Being here wasn’t good. “I just came to drop Lucky off, so he wasn’t alone.” She drew her wand, intending to apparate then and there, and spun on her heel.

She stopped before she could call on her magic. They were sitting on the table, pink and red with white holding them together in a vase. 

Fury saw them too, his brow furrowing. “Who the hell brought flowers to my office? When the hell did flowers get put in my office?” 

_His cloak is missing._

Hermione reacted instinctively, throwing up a powerful shield around them an instant before green light speared Clint’s way. The shield shattered on impact, but so did the spell. Hermione was already casting two spells in the opposite direction when Dolohov slipped the hood of the Invisibility Cloak off his head, his covered form neatly side-stepping her magic. She could feel it now, the telltale burn churning inside of her.

“ _That doesn’t belong to you_ ,” she hissed.

“On the contrary, Kotyonok.” Dolohov gave her a grin. “I believe I won this fair and square. As I will the stone you so selfishly keep from me.”

“You Bastard!” Hermione screamed out more spells, advancing towards him. She was no longer numb, a red haze of anger overcoming her. The white-hot fury flowed through her, fuelling her attacks. “Confringo! Bombarda! Reducto!”

Antonin danced out of the way, his laugh maniacal as he lazily fired at her. “That’s it! There’s that darkness I knew existed inside you. Use it, Kotyonok! You know what you want to use.”

There were bits of plaster, wood, and metal on the ground. Hermione didn’t think of where they came from. All she cared about was hurting the Wizard in front of her. She stabbed her wand at the ground next to him. “Oppungo!”

Russian curses followed as the debris around Dolohov hit him. 

Hermione ran forward, only to curse and swing her elbow back when someone caught her from behind. She was dragged back, kicking and screaming, her wand shooting random spells behind her back.

“Stop! Hermione, stop!”

The haze lessened, the thundering of her heart filling her ears when she heard the voice. Clint. It was Clint’s arms around her. Someone was shooting ahead of her, two someones. She could hear Fury’s voice trying to reach somebody to no avail. That’s when her vision cleared, and she realized what she’d done.

Half of Fury’s office was blown apart, wiring hanging dangerously from the ceiling. Clint had saved her from stepping into a hole in the ground. Dolohov was taking cover behind a couch, bullets from either side of her forcing him to stay down. No, they weren’t getting close to him. Hermione could make out the almost invisible glimmer of a shield where the bullets were forced to stop. She could see blood near him, a fresh puddle growing by the second. One of her spells had done something to him. 

“What’s the deal? Summarize.”

Hermione shook her head, struggling to get her bearings. “Bad guy, after me. He’s already killed someone else recently.” Her eyes hardened. Harry. He’d killed Harry. “Let me go.”

“No.” Clint tightened his hold on her. “You aren’t thinking straight. Fury’s trying to call backup.”

“No use,” she heard Fury comment. “Something is keeping this level secluded from the rest of the building.”

He’d built Wards and trapped her in without Hermione realizing it. How long had he been stalking her to be this efficient? 

Dolohov lifted his wand slightly, his eyes trained on her.

Hermione muttered an oath, thinking _Relashio_ as soon as he moved. Clint was forced to let go of her, the spell propelling him backward. At the same time, Hermione dove to the side. The flash of blue light flew past her, shattering the window behind her. Hermione rolled out of her dive, coming up to one knee and stabbing her wand at Dolohov’s shield. “Glacius!”

The temperature dropped, Hermione’s breath misting in front of her. Ice slowly spread from the center of Dolohov’s barrier, encasing him steadily and trapping him. She looked to the side. Clint was rubbing his leg, Lucky by his side and ears pricked forward. Natasha still had her gun aimed in Antonin’s direction, but she flicked her gaze to Hermione, a question on her face. Director Fury was coming around his desk, weapon held casually at his side. None of them showed outward effects of being cold though the spell had turned the room’s temperature from controlled cool to freezing. 

“How long will that contain him?” Fury asked once he’d stopped beside her.

Hermione got to her feet. “Only long enough for him to break the spell himself. I-” She cut herself off as she felt the magic in the air. It wasn’t offensive, but methodical. It had the feeling of steps flowing seamlessly in a sequence. She snarled, “Oh, you bloody well will not. Bombarda!” 

The shield of ice exploded, but there was no one there. Or so it seemed. She sent another spell at the same spot. It hit the ground, creating another hole. Before Hermione could try a different corner, there was a loud crack.

“No!” Hermione shouted in fury. She started forward, but then she was being dragged away again. “Let me go, Clint! He’s getting away.”

“He’s already gone!” Clint shouted at her. “You need to think before you almost step through the floor a third time!”

Hermione looked down, realizing he was correct, but she flicked the thought away. “I don’t care! I can’t lose track of him! I can still find him if I act quickly.”

A siren blared through the air. Fury rolled his eyes. “A bit late for that.” He crossed back to his desk, picking up the phone that started ringing.

Hermione considered using magic on Clint again, but Natasha stepped up to her side. “He’s gone, Hermione. You need to calm down. Don’t make me knock you out.”

She’d do it too. Hermione struggled once more against the arms holding her before she slumped, seething at his escape. “You don’t understand.”

“No,” Natasha agreed. “Because you haven’t trusted us with this. Now you can tell us the entire story, and we can go from there.”

She looked away. “I took oaths-”

“The time for that has passed,” Clint said quietly. “Whatever you’ve been hiding, it’s now crossed into SHIELD.”

That was true, and she knew they had a right to know after they’d been caught in the crossfire. “There’s no time. I have to leave-”

“You’ll make time,” Fury said as he held the phone to his year. “And I’ll do you one better. Barton and Romanov are taking you home. You’ll take the Quinjet and fill them in from there.” Before Hermione could protest, he held up a finger. “Don’t. My office has been blown to fucking pieces, and now I’ll have to convince the idiots on the World Council SHIELD wasn’t targeted by terrorists. Take them or be detained, Granger.”

She took them.

* * *

Hermione situated herself away from Clint and Natasha, giving them the barest of details about her mission in America. It felt wrong, sharing something she’d kept close to her chest and dared not share with anyone else. It was too late for secrets now, she reminded herself. 

“The day of…” Clint closed his mouth against what he was going to say. He glanced at Lucky, who they’d chosen to bring along and who was now curled up on one of the seats. After Freya, Clint had been overprotective of the dog, and she’d only seen the final stages of it when they’d seen each other after a month. “I recognize where I saw those flowers now. Their petals were scattered everywhere before.”

“Yes, he’d found me,” Hermione acknowledged. “I’m not sure what kept him from ending it all then and there. Freya wouldn’t have thwarted him long.” Oh, she knew. The demented bastard had a twisted mind, and half his actions involved tormenting his targets. He got off on the mind games, off his victims knowing he could be there at any moment and no one could stop him.

Hermione stopped that train of thought before it went further. She _was not_ a victim. 

“Dolohov,” Natasha said thoughtfully. “Russian.”

“His father’s people.” Hermione tilted her head as she pulled up what she knew about his background. “They emigrated from Russia to the UK generations back, but still managed to keep their bloodline completely Russian until Dolohov was born. I believe his mother is French, maybe. Not much is known about her. She disappeared shortly after his birth.”

“And this stone he was talking about?” Clint asked. “I’ve never seen you especially careful about any one object.”

Hermione looked off to this side, silently letting the glamour fall away from her necklace. It was safe enough for now. Even Dolohov would have trouble ambushing them on a moving jet. 

She felt him move closer, eyes shooting to his when he stopped in front of her and fingered the black stone resting on her neck. “How did I not notice this?” he murmured.

She didn’t think he was waiting for an answer, but she gave one anyway. “Magic. I went to great lengths to keep it hidden.”

Clint looked up, their eyes meeting. Hermione looked for any sign of what he was thinking, but he stepped back and looked away from her after a few seconds. Hermione wanted the silent rejection to sting, but her heart was hurting too much to care. She should care, shouldn’t she? 

“Leaving your country and starting over in a new one is a great length,” Natasha commented. “What’s so special about this stone?”

“They call it the Resurrection Stone. It’s rumored to have the ability to summon loved ones back from the dead, but it doesn’t, not really. It brings ghosts or shades.” She chewed her lip. “I’ve never used it, so I don’t know exactly.” Not that she hadn’t been tempted. Her fingers closed over the stone. Harry…

As quickly as she’d thought it, she forced her hand away, clearing her throat. “The stone is one of three objects referred to as the Deathly Hallows, named so because they’re believed to be made by Death itself.”

Clint gave an amused snort, looking towards her and away. He did a double-take when she didn’t laugh with him. “Seriously?”

“Yes.” Hermione crossed her arms. “I won’t go into the full history, but there’s the stone, a cloak, and a wand. The cloak is an Invisibility Cloak, a powerful one. And the wand is the most powerful conduit of power in the world. Possess all three, and one becomes the Master of Death. Until about four years ago, the title didn’t mean anything significant.”

“He was invisible before, the cloak?”

Hermione’s breath hitched. Her lips trembled as she tried to answer Natasha’s question. “Y-Yes. Dolohov has the Invisibility Cloak.” Her fingers twitched, she curled them into fists. “It was in someone else's safekeeping before now.” They’d had that cloak since Harry was eleven, since their first year. She closed her eyes. “My best friend was its keeper until Dolohov killed him last night. I found out about Harry’s death this morning, along with orders to come home immediately.”

There was silence. Hermione didn’t feel like talking anymore. She knew she should. They didn’t know _why_ Dolohov would be after the Deathly Hallows or why they’d been separated from each other. But her body was starting to go numb again, spreading from her chest until all she wanted to do was sleep.

So that’s what she did. Ignoring anything they might have said, Hermione curled up on a chair and fell asleep.

* * *

She was shaken awake shortly after falling asleep. It hadn’t been that long, certainly not long enough for Hermione to forget what was happening. She opened her eyes to find Natasha crouched beside her. Something warm and furry was laying over her legs. Lucky. He’d done it plenty of times before.

Hermione sat up, spying Clint over by the controls. “Where are we?”

“We’re about to enter British airspace. We need to know where to set down.”

Hermione got up, running one hand over Lucky’s head in apology. “I still have a flat here. There’s a gated park nearby; it fell out of favor when the one two streets over was refurbished. The Quinjet should be safe there for a few days.” Until she could figure out a way to explain them. 

The park was empty just as she knew it would be. Four years hadn’t changed the broken down playground equipment and the subpar mowing treatments. Hermione walked down the ramp, stopping as soon as she stepped foot on the knee-high grass. She was back on British soil.

This wasn’t how she’d thought she’d be coming home. 

She wished she felt nostalgic as she casually led her group to her building down the street. This wasn’t the neighborhood she’d grown up in, where everyone in the community knew each other. She’d chosen this area of housing because it was close enough to Diagon Alley for her to apparate directly into it without much traveling if necessary. She’d never spent a lot of time getting to know the people that made their homes here, but still, everything looked the same. Even some of the people were familiar. She wasn’t surprised. Four years was a lifetime to her, but it wasn’t for everyone.

She felt the security Ward on her door, the familiar magic washing over her in welcome as soon as she touched the handle. It was Harry’s magical signature. He must have come by after she’d left and sealed off her flat. It was exactly the type of thing one would expect from him. Hermione’s head fell forward and landed on the door with a small thud. His magic was comforting, the warmth mingling with her like an old friend.

A baby began to wail down the hall.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she committed this feeling to memory. Then she stepped back and drew a pattern on the door that would undo any security measures placed on the flat to discourage entry. The motif glowed green before Hermione felt the Wards fall. Harry’s addition was the last to leave. It fizzled out slowly, as if fighting to stay before succumbing to the key she’d placed on her Wards.

Once she could no longer feel his magic, her heart constricted. It was like losing him all over again.

Her flat hadn’t changed. Bookcases still surrounded her living room, their shelves magically expanded so that Hermione could keep buying books. Her most treasured photos were situated on the fireplace; Hermione and the boys their third year and one right next to it someone had taken after the Final Battle. The Order was grouped in another one, their stances ready for the horrors to come but without the tiredness that would come later. There was Hermione with the Weasleys on Ginny and Harry’s wedding day. Another placed Crookshanks on her lap in the Gryffindor common room, his squished face glaring at the camera. The last was one of her parents on their third anniversary, Hermione resting between them as a toddler. It was the only picture not moving. 

The rest of her place would remain the same. She had two rooms with one bathroom between them. The kitchen doubled as her potions area; the room magically expanded as well so that she could have a proper setup. Other than needing a dusting charm to remove the layer of dust that had built up in her absence, nothing seemed to have happened while she’d been away.

“I see you’ve always been a bookworm.”

Hermione glanced at Natasha and Clint, the latter standing by the fireplace and looking at her pictures. She’d forgotten about them for a moment. “Yes. Books have always been my comfort zone.” She started for the kitchen. “I’m making tea.”

They followed her into the kitchen. Hermione decided to prepare everything by hand. It would keep her busy. “There are two rooms. You’re welcome to take either.”

“And where will you be?”

Hermione almost startled at Clint’s voice. He hadn’t said anything to her since her explanation on the Quinjet. His tone was hard. She couldn’t bring herself to respond in kind. “I need to get to my Ministry.” She blew out a breath. “But first, I’m going to see Harry’s wife.” His widow. She turned to them as soon as she finished setting the water to boil. “My other best friend, the one who’s guarding the wand, will be in soon if he isn’t already. After that, we’ll need to devise a plan to capture Dolohov before he comes at us again.”

“You never finished explaining what was going on,” Natasha said. “Tell us now.”

Hermione made them wait while she finished the tea. She sorted through what she could and could not say before deciding there was no point in keeping anything from them should they ask. They would already know the damaging facts, what really should be kept in the need-to-know. She was technically breaking the law and had been for years at this point. But did a few Muggles knowing really matter if Dolohov was caught in the end?

When she’d served them and sat herself down, Hermione knew she’d kept them waiting long enough. “Four years ago,” Hermione started. “Dolohov was wanted for multiple crimes against Muggles and Magicals. He was considered extremely dangerous, his attitude was-” Hermione stopped herself before she grew too heated. “Let’s just say he knew he was good and had no problem flaunting that fact. The two of us have been circling the other for years, so when there was a breakthrough in tracking him down, I gathered a team and went after him.”

“As a cop.”

“An Auror,” Hermione corrected. “We’re the Wizarding version of the police, but we specialize in combating dark magic. Anyway, we tracked him and his group down. We’ve encountered each other many times, Dolohov and I. The first time we did, he left me a scar that connected me to him somehow. I can feel when he’s near.” She closed her eyes. “I was excited, practically jumping with anticipation when my abdomen started burning with that familiar sting.” She could still feel the memory of it now, chasing him through the woods, playing a personal game of cat and mouse. “I found a cave protected by magic during the hunt. Inside it was a book that contained a ritual using the Deathly Hallows. It would make someone the Master of Death. Before, that title didn’t mean a lot, depending on who you ask. But what the pages detailed… It gave the status a whole new meaning.”

“Where is that book now?” 

Hermione opened her eyes. “In my safekeeping as well. It turns out Dolohov was after the book as well, and I’d landed myself right where he wanted me by undoing the protections on the cave and taking the book. We dueled, but he got away. Two of his accomplices, brothers, were captured in a fight with my team. Among their things were the wand and the stone.” She thrummed her fingers on the table. “I knew then that we needed to do something. You see, before all this, Harry… Harry had been the Master of Death, technically. He’d snapped the wand and left the stone in a forest. Yet, somehow Dolohov had them.”

“Your best friend gave up that kind of power?” Natasha lifted a brow. “Just like that?”

She shrugged. “Sometimes power just isn’t worth it.” It usually caused all kinds of problems. “There are drawbacks to these. The wand is powerful, but it attracts those who seek to be the strongest. Often, the owners will be killed and the wand taken.” She tugged lightly on the stone, thinking about its allure. “So knowing everything I knew, I took the findings to my Minister. He agreed they needed to be kept safe, and Dolohov arrested. We decided, mostly, that the best thing to do would be to split them up and take them to different parts of the world. For reasons, we couldn’t just ask another nation to guard the Hallows in our place, so Ron and I decided we’d leave.”

“You chose the United States,” Clint stated.

Hermione smiled as the memory of Ron spinning the globe and turning around popped into her head. “We chose randomly, actually. My finger landed on Washington, D.C.” She still didn’t know if Suriname had been Ron’s original destination or if he’d had to move as Harry had told her. “We left with Harry’s promise to track down Dolohov and bring us home as quickly as he could manage.”

“He didn’t,” Natasha said matter of factly.

She blew out a breath. “No, he went to ground and stayed there evidently. But I…” She avoided looking at Clint, choosing to look into her cup instead. “I suspect he knew all along what we’d done and was biding his time before making his move.”

“Because of what happened at the store.”

“Yes. I made a mistake, and he homed in on me quickly.” Why he’d chosen to leave her be, she didn’t have the answer. “I should have alerted everyone right away, but I knew they’d make me come home.” She didn’t tell them why she didn’t want that to happen. It was obvious. “After that, I didn’t hear anything from him until this morning when he personally delivered the news of Harry’s death with his bloody condolences.”

Clint set his cup down forcefully, liquid sloshing over one side. “He was at the apartment?”

Hermione nodded. “You know the rest from there. We have two main priorities now; capture him, and keep the other two Hallows out of his hands.” She frowned. “Explaining you two is going to be a headache and a half. I may not be back for a couple of days, so you’ll have to sit tight until you hear from me.”

Clint leaned back in his seat, arms crossing over his chest. “You expect us to sit back while this psychopath is after you while you flit around Britain?” He cocked his head to the side. “Have you forgotten we’re a team?”

“This is my area of expertise, my laws that have been broken.” Hermione stood. “I can’t just have you two tag along without an explanation.” She looked away. “I have to go.” She’d put off making contact too long already.

Hermione made it to the fireplace and had just finished reconnecting it when Clint laid a hand on her arm. “Wait.”

She turned but didn’t say anything. Clint ran a hand through his hair. “Look…” He stayed silent.

She waited for him to speak, but when he didn’t, she sighed, “It’s okay. I get it. I knew things would change if you ever found out the truth.”

“That’s not-” Clint closed his mouth, unable to deny what she said. 

Her heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. Yet, she didn’t try and push him. A part of her wanted to, wanted to know the status of their relationship. But a bigger part of her couldn't work up the energy to dwell on it, to fight for them. That part reminded her that there were bigger things to deal with. “I have to go,” she said again.

Clint stepped back, nodding shortly. “We’ll be waiting on your call.”

Hermione knew what he said. If she didn’t update them, bring them in, he’d track her down. “There’s a key I use for appearances in the side table by the door.” With that, she grabbed floo powder, threw it in, and shouted her destination.

  
  



	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge shout out to S.Joan and thescarletphoenixx for their work on this story!

Hermione landed in the familiar room that welcomed all guests of Grimmauld Place. Harry hadn’t wanted to make his family here, but even he wasn’t so stubborn that he couldn’t see how defensible it was when adequately protected. He was lucky that his new wife hadn’t batted an eye at settling here instead of the country house with enough land for a Quidditch pitch that they’d both dreamed of. He’d talked about moving them out now and then, but that had come to a full halt four years ago. It had become all too important for Harry to stay at Grimmauld, with its ancient protections and Blood Wards.

Were the sacrifices even worth it anymore? Harry was gone, and Dolohov would be coming for her and Ron next.

He entered the room then, a lean mass of ginger and freckles. Hermione let out a cry of relief that was echoed by his sigh, and then they were in each other’s arms. He hugged her fiercely, pressing hard kisses to the crown of her head while Hermione softly sobbed into his chest. “Ron.”

“I know.” His voice cracked when he spoke. “I know. We’ll get that bastard, Mione. We won’t rest until we do.”

“That’s a nice sentiment,” a familiar voice spoke coldly. “But where were the two of you when my husband actually needed you?”

Hermione pulled away from Ron, seeing Ginny at the entryway. Her clothes were rumpled, hair tangled as if she hadn’t bothered to brush it, and eyes swollen. A toddler was sleeping on her hip, her stomach the expected size of a woman in her third trimester of pregnancy. “Ginny…”

The redhead held up her hand. “I don’t want to hear your excuses. I’ve already had enough of them from that one.” She gestured to Ron with her chin. “The only reason why you’re not being thrown out is that despite you abandoning your family, I know Harry still loved you both.” Her lips quivered as she looked down. “He wrote to you both. Every milestone, every event, anything resembling news; he’d write to you. But he never sent them. He would never tell me why.”

The guilt tore her apart. Ron held her tighter. “Gin-”

Ginny shook her head once, raising angry eyes to meet them. “I can’t do this now. Your godchildren are asleep, and it took them forever to get them that way.” Hermione knew why. Magical children were connected to their parents. They’d have sensed subconsciously, especially at a young age, that something had happened to their father. “Ron says you two were needed at the Ministry when you finally showed your face. We’ll be at the Burrow later.”

Hermione’s eyes rested on the toddler, Albus Severus. Ginny had said godchildren. Harry must have insisted on naming them his godparents as planned no matter that they weren’t there to take the oaths when he’d been born. He’d always stated he wanted her and Ron for any children he had. She acquiesced with a small nod. “Do you need anything?”

Ginny lifted a brow. “My husband.” Then she turned and left, her steps echoing up the stairs. 

Hermione sighed, her head connecting with Ron’s chest. “They’ll never understand.”

He rubbed a hand down her back. “It’s not our job to make them. Come on, Kingsley wanted us at the Ministry as soon as you got here.” He pulled away, looking down at her. “We expected you hours ago.”

“Dolohov waylaid me.” 

Ron’s jaw clenched. “You can tell me what happened once we’re secure.”

The Ministry was the same as ever; people rushing to and from, memos flying every which way. Except in place of the statue that was usually the centerpiece of the Ministry’s atrium, an image floated.  _ In Memoriam: Auror Harry James Potter _ . His official photo wavered under the words, his serious gaze looking out at the crowd, his mouth twitching up at the end before it reset. Hermione remembered the day it was taken. Ron was so determined to get them to mess up what would become their official Auror identification. Harry had only made it through his face on sheer determination before losing it in front of Kingsley and two other department Heads.

The memory made her smile sadly. Ron wrapped his arm around her, pulling her in close. “Do you remember…”

“Yeah,” she choked out. “You made all these stupid faces, trying to get us to react. All because you were first up and smiled like an idiot, and the photographer wouldn’t let you have a redo.”

Ron shook his head. “Didn’t work on you.”

“I had years of practice ignoring your antics,” Hermione sniffed. She looked around when she realized there was a growing buzz of whispers surrounding them. Small crowds had stopped what they were doing, staring at them and whispering amongst each other. Their expressions ranged from shock, curiosity, and pity. “Kingsley is going to know we’re here before we get up there.”

“Let’s go. I see a few reporters lurking about.” He kept his arm around her as they walked. “So where’d you end up?”

“America.” She blew out a breath, internally wincing when she realized who she was about to tell her story to. “There’s a lot for me to tell you.”

“Me too.” Ron rubbed the back of his neck as they entered the lift, manually closing it before anyone else could rush on. “I found someone.”

Hermione brightened. “Really? That’s great. I did too.” The brief surge of happiness for her friend left when she thought of Clint. “Sort of. Everything is kind of a mess right now.”

He sighed, “Yeah, she wasn’t too pleased when I told her I was coming home for a family emergency. As far as she knew, I was estranged from my family.” He grimaced. “Then she wanted to come with me for support, and that was a whole other fight.”

“You think that’s bad,” Hermione grumbled. “I was proposed to yesterday. I had to turn him down because I felt a little too guilty about saying yes while I was living a lie.”

“Blimey.” Ron shook his head. “Was this the Muggle Harry told me about? I know he called you when I started getting attacked. We managed to talk again briefly when I let them know I was safely settled somewhere else.” He frowned, looking to the ground. Hermione understood. That was the last time either of them had talked to their best friend,

“Yes,” she answered to keep the conversation going. “The same one. We have a dog.” Her lips quirked up a bit at Ron’s look of disbelief. “Well, more like it was his dog to begin with, and somehow I ended up listed as his other owner.”

They got off the lift at the Minister’s floor. There was no one loitering the hallways, hoping to catch the Minister when he was between meetings. The other offices on the floor were closed. Kingsley’s secretary, a different Witch than the one he’d had before they left, eyed them curiously before saying, “You can go on ahead. He’s expecting you.”

“Aren’t you going to ask to see our credentials?” Ron demanded. “We could be Dark Wizards polyjuiced to look like friends.”

“O-Of course,” she answered, holding out her hand for their badges. “I only thought… with you two being the surviving members of the Golden Trio-” She winced, cutting herself off. “Hand them over then.”

Hermione pulled hers out of her trouser pocket, giving it to the young Witch with a forced smile. She elbowed Ron when the girl’s face strayed to him as she took his, and quickly looked okay. He gave her a questioning look, and she mouthed ‘be nice.’ He shrugged but thanked her when she gave them their ID’s back. 

Kingsley was signing some parchment on his desk when they walked in. From here, Hermione could tell he was tired. The faint lines around his eyes and mouth from the last time she’d seen him were more pronounced. He looked up when they came in, dropping his quill and standing from his chair as soon as he saw them. “You’re here.” He came around his desk, sweeping Hermione into a brief hug and slapping Ron on the back. “When neither of you stopped by right away, I started to think something had happened.”

“I went to see my parents,” Ron told him. “And then my sister.” He jerked his head Hermione’s way. “She says Dolohov paid her a visit.”

Kingsley’s eyes swung to her. “He found you?”

Hermione sighed, knowing it was time to fess up. “There’s a lot to talk about.”

She made them promise not to interrupt before she started with her story. She knew if given a chance, Ron would blow up before she could finish. Once she had their wary agreement, Hermione launched into a report of the last four years of her life. She held up a finger when Ron jumped from his seat after she recounted the first incident with the man who’d died and Dolohov. She shook her head pleadingly when Kingsley started cursing MACUSA and SHIELD under his breath, his narrowed eyes asking why she didn’t follow protocol. She disillusioned the necklace again, showing them the Wards and protective enchantments she’d woven into the chain and pendant to fight the stone’s surprising allure. She finished with getting her second visit from their favorite fugitive and the subsequent fight in SHIELD headquarters. 

Kingsley wasn’t impressed. “Let me get this straight. First, you didn’t report back that Dolohov had found you as was the plan should such a thing happen. Then you let yourself be blackmailed by another government, breaking the Statute to work with a Muggle organization. Not only that, but now those same Muggles are waiting for you in your flat with full knowledge of what’s happening. Am I missing anything?”

Hermione looked away from them. “When you put it like that…”

“What were you thinking?” Ron exploded. “Mione, if the Wizengmont ever found out you broke the Statute-”

“I know! Okay! I know!” Hermione walked to the fireplace, crossing her arms defensively. “I know it was stupid. I know I should have called right away. I just… I didn’t want to be ordered home. I thought I could handle it.”

“He could have killed you and taken the stone!” Ron stomped up to her. “You could be dead too, Hermione! Did you think about that?”

“I’m not, though.” Hermione stepped up to him, cupping his cheeks with her hands. “Ron, look at me. I’m not dead.”

He closed his eyes. “I know. I’m sorry, Mione. I just can’t… Not after Harry.”

She threw her arms around him, giving him the perfect excuse to squeeze her in a tight hug. “Same goes. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you both.”

Kingsley sighed, “Be that as it may, you’ve exposed our secrets to Muggles.”

Hermione disentangled herself from Ron, hearing the finality in the Minister’s tone. “Kings, before you order me to do anything, listen to me. SHIELD knew about us already. By asking for MACUSA’s cooperation, it allowed us to work with them while they want to be friendly. I’ve been with them for years now. If they’d wanted to blow our secret wide open or manipulate us, they’ve had the chance before I came into the picture.”

“Be that as it may-”

“I’m going to marry one of the agents,” Hermione blurted out. She winced when two sets of eyes focused on her.”

“Didn’t you say you turned him down?” Ron mused.

Hermione shot him a side glare. “Things are complicated right now. In an ideal world, one where I  _ don’t _ have to lie to him, I’d like to marry him.”

“I can make an exception for him,” Kingsley allowed. “But the others-”

“We can jinx them against saying anything to others.” The clause came to Hermione in that instant, a one-line allowance in an older handbook for Auror’s she’d needed to read during training. “Permission has to be given by the Minister and doesn’t need Wizengmont approval.”

“You know what I didn’t miss?” Kingsley asked as he looked up at the ceiling in contemplation. “Your constant interruptions. I swear, only you three ever had the gall to stop a Ministry official when they’re speaking. Of course, with Harry around, they didn’t stop, but it certainly was quieter without all three of you.”

No one said anything; the mood dimming after his words. 

Hermione cleared her throat. “So are we in agreement then? You’ll let me jinx who knows from SHIELD? I truly believe Natasha and Clint will be able to provide us with backup in this.”

Kingsley shook his head, giving her a weary look. “Fine, Miss Granger. But you’ll do the jinx before you tell them anything else.”

“Can we see Harry?” Ron asked suddenly.

Hermione’s eyes fell to the ground.

“Ginny said the Ministry hasn’t cleared his body to be given final rites. He’s still here.”

“All Auror’s killed in action are held for a period of three days to determine the cause of death and gather any evidence that may pertain to their case,” Hermione murmured. She swallowed, forgetting they’d still have Harry’s body. Silly her, she’d thought she wouldn’t be able to see him until his funeral. The question was, did she want to see him?

Her last clear picture of him was hugging him goodbye one final time before leaving for America. Did she want to replace that with the image of him being held in the Ministry’s autopsy, his body one of many she’d gone there to see as an Auror? If proper procedures were followed, only the most immediate family would be allowed to see him; meaning Ginny and the children. The Auror’s in charge of investigating his death would also be allowed to see him, and they’d be the ones who cleared him to be prepared for his funeral. Then she realized they  _ were _ the Auror’s in charge of the investigation. Kingsley would keep Dolohov’s motives under wraps because of the possibility more Purebloods were helping him. 

“Yes. We’ll go down now.”

The choice was made for her as Ron wrapped his arm around her again, leading them out of the room and back towards the lifts. 

The ride down was silent. The lifts opened on several levels, but no one got on once they saw who was there. Hermione thought about filling the silence with conversation, questions on what to do next, but she didn’t. She was mentally preparing herself for what she was about to see. She’d seen several bodies before now, and had, unfortunately, helped create them while working for SHIELD. If she thought like an Auror, she should be fine. Everything would be fine.

The level that held the Ministry’s mortuary was the same as it’d always been. The sickening smell that always permeated morgues was faint as soon as they got off the lifts. She remembered Ron losing his lunch during training when they’d first come down here, Hermione holding hers in by sheer will and the promise that she could always throw up in private after all this was over. She had, she remembered, making it through the tour and claiming the need to use the loo before hurrying away as much as dignity allowed. Harry had been waiting for her when she finally left, a bottle of water in his hand and an understanding smile on his face. They’d never mentioned it to anyone, even when Ron had been razzed by the older Auror’s.

He was not the only body down there, but he was the one she saw as soon as they walked through the doors.

The sheet covered him almost entirely, but that was his face. He had a few stress lines too, and a new scar along his jawline. His hair was still as wildly messy as ever, the bangs falling back a bit with the position of his head. He looked asleep, as if he’d wake up any moment, scrambling to make it into the shower because he was running late. 

Her eyes stung.

“They should have the report ready,” Kingsley was telling them though neither of them was listening much. “I had them make him a priority so that there weren’t any delays in burying him.” He sighed when they stayed silent. “I’ll just go get it.”

Hermione heard a door close and finally lifted her finger to brush against his cheek. The skin was cold. He shouldn’t be this cold.

“Damn it!”

The roar startled her, but the following crash didn’t. Hermione turned from Harry, watching Ron as he picked up another stool and threw it against the wall. His body was shaking, face red and angry. He was holding back his tears, but not by much. She could feel the air change, charged with bits of magic that Ron couldn’t control in his state. Her heart broke all over again, watching him throw his fit.

“What was wrong with the git! Why would he go off without any sort of backup!” Another crash. “After all these years, you’d think he’d recognize a bloody trap!” His sparking fist pounded on an empty table, a scorch mark left in its wake. “I told him to take care of my family!”

Hermione couldn’t stand it anymore. She rushed to him and threw her arms around him, holding him still when he fought to be free of her hold. She meant to calm him down, to get him to stop, but all that came out was a big sob that turned into more before she could stop it. 

His arms banded around her, a tiny tear falling onto her cheek, but he didn’t say anything. She could hear her cries echoing through the room, but she couldn’t make herself stop. Her heart was bleeding for all of them. She wanted to rage along with him. Why did that man never listen to her? She’d ordered,  _ ordered _ , him not to die.  _ Why _ had he had the cloak on him? She wanted to ask all these questions. She wanted to demand if he knew he’d be breaking everyone when he died. 

But all she could do was cry, for all of them, and all Ron could do was hold her.

* * *

They came through the floo to her flat later that night. 

They’d spent the rest of the day going over Harry’s notes, the autopsy report confirming it was Dolohov’s special spell that had killed him. They’d both agreed that there was nothing more they could learn from his body, so Kingsley had gone to inform Ginny he could be prepped for burial. Hermione felt like a coward, declining to go to the Burrow with him, but she was too worn out to deal with the entire Weasley clan at the moment. Ron had come back with her. After their time in the morgue, he was adamant that they were better off together than apart. 

Hermione knew he was also avoiding his family while giving in to his urge to keep her close, but she didn’t contradict him. She needed him with her too.

There were voices in the kitchen, Natasha’s laughter flowing through the door. Hermione stopped as soon as she stepped out of the fireplace. She hadn’t been thinking about her other houseguests when she’d let Ron floo with her. 

Ron stumbled out of the floo, cursing when he realized Hermione was directly in front of him. Hermione shrieked in alarm when he fell onto her, the pair of them going down in a tangle of limbs. Ron had the foresight to wrap his arms around her and turn her before they landed. Her head smacked against his collarbone, pain exploding behind her eyes. 

“Damn it, damn it, Ronald, that's going to bruise.” Hermione rolled off of him, rubbing the spot that hurt. 

“Who just stands in front of the fireplace when more bodies are coming out?” Ron simply lay there, his body having taken the brunt of the fall. “You have a hard head.”

“You’re a grown Wizard now,” Hermione grumbled. “You shouldn’t be stumbling out of fireplaces like some first-year.”

Hands grabbed her from under her armpits and lifted her to her feet. She knew Clint had done it as soon as he touched her. Natasha was next to him, shaking her head as she touched Hermione’s forehead. “That’s going to bruise without question.”

“Sure, no one worry about the intruder on the floor.” Ron was rubbing his shoulder as he sat up. “I thought you said they were spies.” He was in the process of getting up when Lucky barreled into him, his tongue lashing out and licking Ron all over his face.

“Good boy.” Hermione rolled her eyes and turned to face Natasha and Clint. “Did you guys settle in okay?”

“Sure. We picked up takeout from that Asian place down a block over.” Natasha’s eyes went to Ron. “We didn’t know he’d be coming.”

Hermione’s stomach rebelled against the idea of food. “He can have my portion.”

Clint lifted a hand towards her face, his skin almost touching hers before it fell back down to his side. “You’ve been crying.”

“It’s been a long day.” Hermione snapped her fingers in Lucky’s direction. “Stop playing with the dog, Ronald.”

“You could have called him off at any time,” he complained after getting to his feet. 

“I could have,” she agreed. “Ron, this is Natasha Romanov and Clint Barton. I’ve been part of their team at SHIELD for a few years now.”

“Ron Weasley,” he greeted. He turned his eyes on Clint. “So, this is the bloke?”

Hermione sighed, “Yes, Ron. This is Clint. There’s food for you in the kitchen.”

Ron nodded. “I’m starved, thanks.” He didn’t move. “Hermione says you can help us. Is that true?”

Hermione turned her head to glare at him. “Just because they’re Muggles-”

“I’m not asking because they don’t have magic.” Ron glared at her in return before turning his attention back to them. “So?”

Clint’s eyes were on Hermione as he spoke. “I’m not going to let anything happen to her if I can help it.”

Natasha shrugged. “You heard him.”

“Good, because of all the people Dolohov hates the most, Hermione tops his list.” He walked to the kitchen without another word.

Hermione could feel the headache forming, a pulsing throb that had nothing to do with her earlier misfortune. “I’m going to bed. We can discuss everything tomorrow.”

She walked to her bedroom, thinking only of a long shower and sleep. 

Clint came in behind her. Hermione realized why when she saw his bag and hers on the bed. He closed the door, his calm gaze watching her, waiting for her reaction. “I can bunk with Nat if that’s what you want.”

“No,” she said quickly. She blew out a breath. “I mean, you can stay here if you’d like.”

Clint lifted a brow. “What would you like?” He frowned, scrubbing his hand over his face. “Forget I asked that. Now is not the time for this.”

“It’s not,” Hermione agreed before shrugging. “But we probably need to.”

“No, we don’t.” Clint stepped closer and lifted his hand to land on her shoulder. “You’re tired. Get some rest. You won’t be in top fighting condition if you’re worn out.”

She closed her eyes. “You’re right.”

Hermione felt his body brush hers as he leaned in and pressed a light kiss to her temple. “I meant it when I said I wasn’t going to let anything happen to you.” 

She closed her hand over his before he could step back. “Stay.” She opened her eyes to find him already watching her. “Please.”

Clint nodded. “Okay.”

  
  
  
  



	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge shout out to S.Joan and thescarletphoenixx for their work on this story!

The day of Harry’s funeral was cloudy, the weather matching the mood of the crowd below.

Hermione was dry-eyed, her grief almost nonexistent under the Auror role she presented to the public. Many a reporter had tried harassing her and Ron for answers, but they were blocked now by the line of Auror’s providing security for the event. Ron was sure Dolohov would make a move while they laid Harry to rest. Hermione was inclined to agree. Even if he knew they’d both be on their guard, he’d still come to wreak havoc on the mourners.

They were in Godric’s Hollow, where Harry was to be placed in the same graveyard as his parents. The Ministry was paying for everything, a small consolation in the grand scheme of things. It was standard for any Auror that died in the line of duty, but Hermione knew Kingsley would have done it if he hadn’t. He was the Hero of Wizarding Britain, after all. 

Hermione was waiting for the procession to start with Ron and Ginny. As his widow and his best friends, they’d be leading the group that had come to bid Harry farewell to his final resting place. Only Kingsley would be further up, acting in his capacity of Minister. She was holding Jaime, who’d immediately clung to her when she’d floo’d to Grimmauld that morning. Their Godparent to Godchild bond still held true, even if he didn’t have any real memories of her. Ginny could hold a grudge like no other, but once she’d been told she could bury her husband, she didn’t seem to have the energy for anger anymore. Molly was urging her to stay at the Burrow for the time being, citing the stress couldn’t be good for the baby.

She would know, seeing as the death of her brothers had resulted in the twins being born early.

“You holding up?”

The words were spoken from the earpiece nestled in her ear. Ron, who had her extra earpiece, looked at her for a moment before resuming his talk with his father. The only other two who were on this frequency were Natasha and Clint. Clint was situated on the rooftop, taking the watch position as he almost always did. Natasha was disguised as a mourner among the crowd, blending in with the Weasley’s with ease and being kept company by Charlie. Hermione was glad the charm she’d worked into them, with Arthur’s help, was holding. The ambient magic in the air was enough to make even the most easily manipulated electronic short circuit.

“I’m holding,” Hermione told Clint. “Anxious.”

She heard Ron snort, resisted giving in to the urge to glare at him. “Just keep it steady, Jedi. Widow and I memorized over a dozen faces last night. We’ll know if any of them show their face here.”

His codename sent a bud of warmth straight to her heart. They’d put off talking about the status of their relationship, but he didn’t retreat so far as to suggest there was nothing between them anymore. He’d slept with her every night, holding her close and letting her cry herself to sleep without saying a word. He’d been introduced to her family, not as her boyfriend, but as a member of her team. He hadn’t said a word against it, but the tightness around his eyes told her he hadn’t been pleased. If Natasha sensed the lingering tension between them, she didn’t say anything. They worked as one cohesive unit like they’d trained themselves to, leaving all personal strife at the door.

“It’s time.”

She held in her shudder at Kingsley’s words.  _ It’s time. _ The simple phrase could mean anything, but it didn’t this time. Ginny squeezed her eyes shut, clutching Albus to her before handing his sleeping form off to her father. Molly appeared behind her holding her arms out with red eyes. Hermione nodded and pressed a gentle kiss to James’ hair before handing him off. James, perhaps sensing what was to come, clung to her tightly, little arms squeezing her neck as he fought to stay with her.

“No!”

His small voice carried over the groups waiting for everything to begin. Molly looked around, seeing people start to turn their way. Without a word the Weasley’s grouped around them, cutting off the public’s view of the family. Hermione struggled not to cry, her face pressing against his messy hair. “It’s okay, Jaime. You need to go with Grandma now.”

“No!” He kicked out furiously, hitting Hermione on the side. His head landed in the spot between her neck and her collar, his voice starting to hiccup as her skin grew wet. “No!”

“James,” Molly started, laying a hand on his back.

“Let him stay,” Ginny said as she reached forward and brushed the back of his head gently. “Dad, give Albus to Ron. His children should help lay him to rest, no matter how old they are.”

Mother and daughter stared at each other for a minute before Molly nodded her head and stepped back. They’d fought plenty about this very decision for the last few days, Ginny acquiescing to having her sons a part of it until now. Hermione comforted James, promising he was staying right there with them, that she had him, that it was okay. Awakened by his brother’s voice, Albus didn’t fight when Arthur passed him to Ron, but he looked at everyone around him, his toddler mouth turned down in a frown.

Kingsley cleared his throat, walking past them and taking his place in front of the coffin Hermione had avoided looking at before now.

Made of Holly, like the wand Harry had treasured all his life, the casket would be levitated by her, Ginny, and Ron and moved to the burial site. The face of the coffin was inscribed with the Ministry’s seal and two wands crossed beneath to indicate his position in life, followed by the outline of a Phoenix to symbolize his allegiance when their nation was at war. Ginny had asked Hermione to put the traditional runes on all five points herself to ensure they were done correctly. She’d done so the night before with Ron keeping one hand on her back the entire time for solace. 

At Kingsley’s nod, the three raised their wands and pointed at the casket. “Wingardium Leviosa!” The wooden box lifted into the air under the combined strength of all three of them. Hermione and Ron turned to watch Ginny for a second to make sure she would hold. If not, she would release the spell and they’d pour more magic to keep it steady. But after a few seconds, Ginny laid her hand over her stomach and nodded to them. 

They walked.

Kingsley erected a massive shield as he led the way, the magic pouring to the sides and in front of him. It would keep the onlookers that wouldn’t walk to the graveyard until they’d all passed from reaching out to them or the coffin. The person leading the way like this was traditional too, his body acting as a guard in case anyone tried to attack them from the front. There had been plenty of arguments about the Minister doing this, but he’d held firm, rejecting any thoughts of Auror’s in position with him. Hermione and Ron would have to be enough.

Hermione kept her focus on James and the magic required to keep the casket steady, ignoring the people lining the sides. The little boy was silently crying in earnest now, his hazel eyes peeking out from his hair and glued to the scene in front of him. She rubbed her cheek against his head, providing the comfort she could while holding the spell and him. Hermione reminded herself she needed to keep it together. She needed to be an Auror, not just a grieving best friend.

“You’re doing good. I’ve got you.”

Hermione nodded slightly to let Clint know she’d heard him. She let out a calm breath, her solemn face lifting just the tiniest bit. Even from far away, he could see she needed the words. 

When they got to the burial site, Kingsley moved to the side. They lowered Harry’s casket to the hole that was previously dug, Ginny letting go of the spell while Hermione and Ron lifted the lid into the air and held it. They’d all agreed that making Ginny hold the spell while the Minister talked would be too taxing on her core while she was pregnant. Natasha and Clint hadn’t liked the thought of them tiring themselves out with this, but it was tradition that the lid couldn’t be sealed until all personal effects going with Harry were in there with him. Ginny planned to place Harry’s wand with him, and then they’d lower the lid and seal it, marking the end of the service.

Kingsley held his wand to his throat, casting his voice for everyone to hear. “Today, we lay to rest a young man I’ve had the pleasure of knowing since he was still in Hogwarts.”

“Your friend from before just appeared in the crowd.”

Hermione stopped listening to Kingsley, her hold on James tightening. There was only one Wizard he would be talking about that wasn’t Dolohov, and who he’d seen in person. “Zabini?” She mumbled, turning her head slightly in the guise of running her nose over her Godson’s head to catch Ron’s eye. He’d done the same, acting like he was comforting Albus. 

“Dark skin, shaved head, tall. He’s nervous, keeps taping his wand against his leg.”

Blaise Zabini was never outwardly nervous, not in any way she’d ever seen. “Is he heading over here?”

“No. He’s just standing there.”

“Wait, Mione,” Ron ordered before she could turn around. The lid of the coffin lowered slightly, but Ron pushed his magic forward to keep it steady. “Let Romanov try to get him alone. We’re too public, everyone’s eyes are on us. Besides, you have Jaime and we’re meant to be watching Kingsley too.”

“Nat-”

“Already on it.”

Ginny looked between the two of them, her voice low as she whispered. “Why are you two mumbling to yourselves?”

“Just listen to Kings, Gin,” Ron shifted closer. “The kids are starting to get restless.”

As if on cue, James whined and snuggled closer to her. Ginny’s face fell before she looked forward, shoulders slouching as she rubbed her stomach. 

Hermione concentrated on her spell again, relieving Ron of some of the pressure. Kingsley was speaking, but her mind was on Blaise. What was he doing here? A lot of their former classmates had come for the service, but they’d all shown up early. It still surprised her that he hadn’t used his sighting of her to his advantage. It wasn’t like him. 

“Mione.”

Coming out of it, Hermione saw Ginny walk forward. Her hair was down, brushed by her mother but left alone otherwise. Her baby bump was visible for everyone to see, her skin pale from the stress and grief. The overall combination made her look fragile. Hermione swallowed the dismay she felt at the thought. Ginny Potter was anything but fragile.

She produced Harry’s wand with a flick of her wrist, leaning as far as she could and placing it over his chest. Kingsley hovered over her, one hand ready to help her if she needed it. She didn’t. When it was done, she turned and held her chin high as she started walking back to them. Hermione and Ron slowly lowered the lid onto the casket, the wood making little noise as it landed softly. They swished their wands in a pattern Hermione had memorized the night before, white light engulfing the coffin and lighting up the area. 

When it faded, the casket was sealed. Harry was laid to rest. 

Ginny lowered her face to her hands and began to cry, Molly rushing forward to comfort her. James and Albus started crying too, their wails filling the burial area. 

“I lost him. Do you have him, Birdboy?”

Natasha’s words had Hermione spinning around, looking for the redhead. People were milling everywhere now that the service was done. Those closest were trying to catch glimpses of the family from the throng of Weasley’s that stood around them, while others were chatting. There were too many people.

“Negative. I have eyes on another face from the files. Thorfinn Rowle.”

Rowle was here. Hermione looked at Ron.

Someone screamed.

“Shit, he shot something from his wand.”

The something was a skull in the sky, a snake weaving its way through the mouth. The image inflicted immediate terror among the masses. People started to shove others out of the way as they ran away from the scene, some apparating with large cracks on the spot. 

Hermione turned to the closest Weasley, Bill, and thrust James into his arms. “Go, Bill! Take the family and get out of here! Ron, the Minister!”

He was already giving Albus to his father, Charlie running to Molly and Ginny. She ran in Kingsley’s direction, knowing it was their job to secure him before running after Rowle. “Keep an eye on Rowle, Clint!”

She could hear her fellow Auror’s trying to get control of the panicking situation, Robards taking charge of them as he shouted orders. They’d been prepared for something to happen, and now they’d round up anyone with a known Dark Mark. They’d also been ordered to incapacitate Antonin Dolohov at the first sight of him but to only engage him in groups, never alone. She knew most of the men and women here today, knew that they would follow the order to the best of their ability. 

Kingsley was deflecting a spell thrown at him when she reached him. The figure was wearing a familiar cloak, his face covered by his Death Eater mask. Hermione stepped in front of Kingsley, shouting, “Expulso!” The blue light hit him, sending him sailing over a dozen headstones before he landed on his side.

“Rowle teleported. I don’t have eyes on him anymore.”

Fuck. Hermione grabbed Kingsley by his robes, pulling him along and taking cover by a big statue of an angel. “Get out of here, Kings. We can’t contain the situation if we’re worried about you. Get to your house, and someone will be along to guard you in a bit.”

Kingsley looked like he wanted to argue, but he nodded curtly before doing as she asked. As soon as he disappeared, Hermione sent up two purple lights to the sky; one to let the Auror’s know the Minister had made it out and the second to signal that he was without protection. While the Minister’s home was secured with Wards woven into the foundation and was Secret Kept, it was still a duty of Britain’s Auror’s to make sure he remained protected in times of turmoil. Robards would see the flares, and send two Auror’s to his home immediately.

In the meantime, Hermione could concentrate on apprehending Dolohov.

“Babe, get down.”

Hermione ducked back down in time to miss the spell that slammed into the statue. She rolled out of the way as chunks of rock exploded. A shard hit her on the shoulder, the fabric of her robes tearing and stinging her skin. She looked in the direction the spell had come from, and brought up her shield when more light flew her way. If she hadn’t already been on her ass, the powerful spell would have sent her there. It banged against her shield, forceful as it battered her defense before she won out, leaving a tinge of heat in its wake.

Yeah, that was bloody Rowle.

She scrambled to her feet, eyes landing on the blond giant. He was masked as well, but no one could mistake that burly form. From the corner of her eye, she saw Dolohov step closer. Hermione took a step back, moving to get them both in view. 

The apparition almost didn’t make a sound, the tiny whirl seemed nonconsequential in her mind. At least until Clint cursed in her earpiece, and a wand was poking into her back. 

“Avery and Zabini are taking care of Weasley,” the new voice said. “They’re trying to herd him this way so that you can kill him.”

Selwyn. He’d been presumed dead after the Battle of Hogwarts. So had Avery. Hermione locked her worry for Ron away. He could take care of himself, outmaneuver the likes of Avery and Zabini. She readied her wand.

The tip at her back poked harder. “Now, now, little Mudblood. It doesn’t matter who kills  _ you _ . I can Avada you before you can fire a spell.”

“I have a clean shot on all three of them,” Clint was speaking into the earpiece. “But they’re too spread out for me to take out more than one at a time.”

“Dolohov,” she said.

The man in question took off his mask and smirked. “Ah, Kotyonok. It is good to see you amongst your own kind again.” He frowned. “I have to admit, I found your actions… distasteful. Your blood may be inferior, but that doesn’t mean you should demean yourself the way you have.”

Hermione sneered. “Which is it? I either belong here or I don’t. It’d be nice if you bloody bastards would make up your mind on that front.” What was Clint waiting for? “Dolohov,” she repeated.

Thorfinn shook his head sadly. “You always get the weird ones, mate.” He twirled his wand around his fingers as he stepped closer. “He knows what his name is.”

Antonin’s eyes narrowed. 

Hermione caught the briefest flash of striking red hair from behind Rowle and smirked.

But as Natasha launched herself at the wizard paying no attention to his surroundings, Selwyn jerked behind her, his wand no longer digging into her skin. Hermione whirled around. Selwyn was face down, one of Clint’s special arrows stuck in his back. He was twitching in place, his hand reaching for the wand he’d dropped but unable to as the jolt of electricity coursed through his system. 

“Got him.”

Hermione turned her head in time to see another arrow hit Dolohov in the leg. He jerked a few seconds later, his leg giving out and his body falling to one knee. He clenched his fists, mouth set as he glared at her. Hermione summoned Selwyn’s wand to her free hand, her wand pointed in Dolohov’s direction. 

“Not so cocky now, you stupid bastard.” Hermione marched over to him. “You so much as twitch a finger, I’m dropping you.”

“Weasley’s running this way. Something must have happened to his earpiece. He never responded to our calls.”

Hermione listened as the panicked screaming died down, no doubt due to most people apparating out. Someone shouted in the distance. Hermione twisted her head in time to see bright light hit the mark in the sky, the ugly image dissipating without leaving a trace. She faced Dolohov again, resting her wand under his chin as she jerked him up by the cloak. “This doesn’t belong to you.”

“Well played, Kotyonok. This was fun.”

He had the gall to grin at her, even though she knew he was in pain from the arrow that had hit him with enough electricity to take down men bigger than him. The fact that he wasn’t retaliating against her with a spell told her he was pushing everything he had towards not ending up like Selwyn. “Right. Fun.”

_ Crack! _

“Down!” Clint exploded in her ear. 

Hermione tackled Dolohov to the ground. Green light sailed over her and hit a tombstone instead. Hermione looked around, spotting Avery advancing towards them. Then Ron was there, spitting out spells and forcing the other Wizard onto the defensive.

Dolohov made his move.

His hands reached for her shirt, one hand gripping the fabric while the other reached under to touch her skin. He smirked, mumbling something in Russian she couldn’t make out.

She burned.

The pain was intense, coming on so suddenly Hermione couldn’t help but scream. She convulsed over him, her wand falling to the ground. She could hear voices in her ear, but she had no hope of responding. The pain was familiar, like fire boiling her blood and scorching her from the inside out. His face was pleased as he watched her writhe over him. Hermione couldn’t do much more than glare through quickly blurring eyes. 

Her chest heaved, her twisting body trying to escape the pain. Hermione felt his hand creep higher, the internal fire traveling up with his movement. He stopped when his skin touched metal, his fingers wrapping around the pendant.

No! Hermione tried to work past the pain. Her magic was humming under her skin, trying to rise in defense against what Dolohov was doing to her. She needed to get away, now, before he truly realized what he held. All Hermione could desperately think was  _ Relashio! Relashio! Relashio! _

Her magic burst from inside her, forcing Dolohov to let go but sending them flying away from each other. Hermione landed on her side, her right shoulder and arm taking the brunt of the fall. She heard a whistle in the air, then another, and another. She couldn’t see yet, her eyes slowly clearing as she stopped crying. She couldn’t lift her hands to wipe her face, her body not responding to what she wanted as it came down from the searing pain. Her magic stirred weakly, enough to know it was there but not much else. Her ears were working fine though, and she heard Dolohov scream before her world went dark.

* * *

Hermione woke in a familiar room.

She’d been in this position before; laying in an elevated bed in St. Mungo’s. Beige colored the walls, basic scenery prints added to make the room homey. There was a leather chair on one side of her bed, pulled closer from its position against a wall. The matching sofa was on the furthest end of the room, a folded blanket resting on the arm. On the other side of her bed was a small square table, several potions of varying colors stationed on top. Hermione realized she was covered by a worn blanket in bold colors on top of the thin hospital sheet. 

She looked at the ceiling, thinking back to what she remembered. They were at Harry’s funeral, she was holding Jaime. Her heart sped up when she remembered the little boy before realizing she’d given him to Bill when the screaming started. Kingsley, she’d gone to protect him. Names flashed through her mind; Rowle, Selwyn, Avery. Selwyn and Avery had been presumed dead before now, though their bodies had never been recovered. They’d conjured the Dark Mark, inflicting instant terror on the crowd.

Dolohov.

She could see his delighted eyes in her mind as she burned. But she hadn’t been burning, at least not externally. No, the agony had been all too familiar. He’d touched her, sending his purple flames into her through direct contact.

How was she alive?

She could still feel the way his hands had traveled up her skin, making the heat travel as he did. Hermione reached for her neck a second later, breathing a sigh of relief when she felt cool metal. Had he realized what he’d had in his hand? 

The door opened, admitting Clint as he blew on a steaming cup. He stopped when he noticed she was awake, coming to her side quickly and setting the drink on the table with the potions. “There you are.” He kissed her hard, barely letting her enjoy the feel of his lips on hers before he was pulling away. “How do you feel?”

“Tired,” she told him. “What happened?”

“At which part?” Clint raised a brow before sitting on the side of her bed. “The doc wasn’t sure how much you’d remember.”

“I remember enough to get a general gist of what happened. Dolohov and his group showed up and caused panic. I…” Purple flares, she remembered firing them from her wand. “I sent Kingsley away and went after Dolohov, but Rowle was there and then Selwyn.”

“They had you at wandpoint.” He frowned. “Never thought I’d say that in my life. Anyway, Natasha circled around to get to the big one. They were too spread out for me to take them all out before one of them got to you.”

“I told you to take out Dolohov.” Hermione recalled that now, saying his name over and over, waiting for one of his arrows to hit him.

“If I had, the one behind you would have taken you down before I could notch another arrow.” Clint’s tone was slightly defensive. “I wasn’t going to let that happen, and I calculated that even if Dolohov made a move before I could fire again, you’d be able to defend yourself.”

Hermione laid her hand over his. “I’m not upset.” She looked down. She wasn’t mad at him. “You made the right call. What happened after…”

“After Dolohov got a hold of you?” Clint’s lips thinned. “We weren’t sure what was going on at first. One minute you had him pinned to the ground, and the next you were screaming bloody murder. Weasley fought to get to you. He seemed to know what was happening, but that one Wizard kept him from interfering. Nat was still fighting the blond, and you were covering Dolohov enough that I couldn’t get a clear shot.”

“I was able to summon my magic and get him away from me.” Hermione touched her necklace again. “He had the stone.”

Clint shook his head. “They said your magic reacted to defend you. All I know is that I booked it off the roof and when I got there, you were flying back and giving yourself a concussion.”

“You shot him.”

“Three times,” he confirmed. “I put two in his leg, and the third pinned him down.” He paused and Hermione looked up. His jaw was set, using his grip to keep her hand in his. “I was upset. I was loading up one of the acid tricks when Weasley got knocked back. The Wizard he was fighting dove for Dolohov and teleported before I could get the shot off.”

As far as she knew, Clint had never used one of those arrows on a person. She’d only seen him pull out the acid once, when Nat had failed to get through a reinforced door and set off an alarm. She knew from the look on his face that he was thinking about the fact he’d been willing to use it now. She squeezed his hand. “Don’t. Dolohov brings the worst out in me too. I’ve never wanted to use an Unforgivable Curse more than when facing off with him.”

“You’ve never screamed like that in your life.”

Yes she had. Just never in front of him. “He used a spell of his own creation. It destroys you from the inside out.” Hermione bit her lip. “Surviving the first time was a miracle. I’m not sure how I fared as well as I did this time around.”

There was a knock on the door, the knob turning and Ron poking his head in a moment later. His stony face changed to relieved when he saw she was awake. “Thank Merlin.” He walked in, coming to her other side and pulling her into a hard hug. “Never do that again.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I’ll try. It’s not like I planned to get hit with this curse again.”

Ron pulled away, grimacing. “You didn’t, get hit that is.” At her questioning look, he stepped away and took a seat on the chair, tipping his head back. Hermione realized he looked tired. “It’s the mark he left you. We knew before that it connected you two, but it wasn’t until now that the Healer’s were able to make sense of what it did. It turns out the curse is still inside of you, dormant, and mostly harmless. That is, unless Dolohov feeds his magic into it.”

“A dormant curse?” Hermione sat up straighter, her fingers tangling with Clint’s. “They think it never went away?”

“You aren’t the first or last person he’s cursed with that particular spell. Never before has it left a mark like it did on you.” Ron shrugged. “You’d be able to understand it better if they explained it to you, but basically, even though he was silenced, Dolohov’s will to harm you came through in the curse. Instead of killing you, it connected you to him with the mark as the anchor.”

Hermione nodded, taking it all in. “It makes sense. Normally, I’m able to know when he’s near because of the scar. What else could it be but magic calling to its master?”

“They don’t know how to remove it.”

“They won’t be able to,” Hermione said. “Not with his hate towards me. If the mark is truly connected to him still, his feelings will keep it there. It might even fight back if they try to do anything to it.” In fact, that might have been why she had such a hard time before. Madam Pomfrey and Professor Snape had tried everything they knew to cure her before settling on keeping her alive.

“I’m glad you’re so accepting of that.” Clint shook his head. “Have you thought that maybe he can control it from afar and hurt you? Because I have.”

“If he had, he would have used it by now.” Hermione looked at him. “There have been three confirmed times that we’ve been in the same place before the funeral. At any point he could have used the curse against me if he could.”

“Mione’s right,” Ron spoke up. He leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs. “Dolohov is a sick bastard. He got a thrill from activating the curse again by touching Hermione. But to be able to do it without anyone realizing he was doing it? He wouldn’t be able to resist watching us scramble around to figure out what’s wrong. Or worse, watch her collapse in the middle of a Muggle city. By the time officials got to her,  _ if _ they realized what was going on, she could be gone.”

Clint stayed quiet for a moment before scrubbing a hand over his face. “That’s an image I wanted in my head. Has Nat gotten anything out of the others?”

“Others?” Hermione asked.

“Avery got away from me because I was binding Zabini,” Ron said. “Selwyn never recovered from that arrow, and Rowle was beaten into submission.”

“Three out of five isn’t bad by a long shot.” They’d managed to bag Rowle. Dolohov was the leader, but she’d bet Rowle was the closest he had to a Second. “Are they talking?”

“Only Zabini.” Ron rolled his eyes. “He was never marked, so we can’t hang being a Death Eater on his head. But that’s the least of his worries right now. He knows he won’t get out of this, so he’s telling us everything he knows. Problem is, he doesn’t know more than we do. He claims being recruited under duress.”

“Oh, honestly,” Hermione scoffed. “If that’s the case, he’s useless to us. Rowle will know more. You said Natasha is interrogating them?”

“It’s been her pleasure,” Clint said wryly. “Trust me.”

Ron stood. “I’m going to let everyone know you’re awake.” He came to her side, leaning his forehead on hers and closing his eyes. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Me too.” She grabbed his hand when he stepped away from her. “Let me know the minute they talk, okay?”

He squeezed her hand before letting go. “Sure.” He clapped Clint on the back as he rounded the bed. “We’ll see you later, mate. Make sure she takes her potions.”

Hermione made a disgusted face as she looked at the vials waiting on the small table. “If I didn’t actually get hit with the curse again, why do I have to take them again? They were disgusting the first time around.”

“Your doctors say it’s precautionary.” Clint picked one up and handed it to her. “Be a good girl.”

She uncorked the vial, grimacing and bracing herself before she downed it. She shuddered as she gave the empty glass back to Clint. “Ugh, this tastes as bad as I remember.”

“Better than the alternative.” Clint sighed in aggravation, getting up from his position on the bed. “I didn’t mean to say that. Forget-”

Hermione grabbed his hand before he could retreat. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t complain. I know I was lucky.”

Clint stared at their hands. “I couldn’t do anything. You were writhing all over him, I couldn’t get a clear shot on the guy. Your screaming was so intense, I thought you were going to die.” His hand fisted in hers. “The bastard still got away after that.”

Hermione brought his fist up to her lips, pressing a small kiss on the knuckles and tugging him until he sat back down. “I’m sorry. Normally I would say that’s what you sign up for when you start seeing an Auror, but you never did.”

“You’re right.” Clint looked at the ceiling. “I would have liked to know what I was getting into. Now it’s too late. I’d follow you through hell if I had to.”

Hermione looked away.

His hand cupped her cheek, forcing her to look at him. “I wouldn’t change it,” Clint told her. “I wish you’d felt you could tell me all this sooner. Knowing you didn’t trust me as I do you hurt the hell out of me, it still does. Despite that, loving you feels right so I wouldn’t change it.”

“I love you,” was all she could say.

“Good.” He leaned down and kissed her, keeping his touch light. “I would have felt like all kinds of fool if you didn’t.” He pulled back, serious eyes locking with hers. “We have so much shit to unload, but I wanted to make sure you knew nothing’s changed for me.”

Hermione nodded rapidly, feeling the sting start up in her eyes. “I meant what I said, before.” There weren’t any secrets anymore.

Clint rubbed the skin under her eye with his thumb. “We’ll revisit that when all this is done.” Both of his hands retreated, and he leaned back. “Let’s get those liquids into you, and then I’ll call the doc. He wanted to test your Jedi tricks against the baseline they had during your last stint with this curse.”

Hermione took the change of subject for what it was, accepting the next potion he handed her. “Of all the mystical type movie franchises you could have gone with, did it have to be Star Wars?”

“Star Wars is a classic,” Clint defended his choice. “I could have gone with something like Mary Poppins. That doesn’t sound half as cool.”

“But more accurate,” she muttered.

But she gamely drank the nasty potions as they bickered, feeling her heart lighten with the effort he was putting into keeping the air around her normal. Then, when the Healer had her levitate her medical chart from his hands, Hermione knew she’d be back out there as soon as she tried and it sailed so fast she had to lean to the side or be hit by the projectile.

  
  
  
  
  


  
  



	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge shout out to S.Joan and thescarletphoenixx for their work on this story!

Hermione swore viciously as soon as the Healer left the room.

At least another twenty-four hours for observation, he told her. She’d already been stuck in this hospital for three bloody days. She’d let them run their tests, and drank their unpalatable potions. What more did they want from her? Obviously, she was suffering no ill effects from a dormant curse clinging to her. Didn’t they realize she had a job to do?

She’d already resolved to send a Patronus to Kingsley. She hated going to him when she wasn’t getting her way, but the longer she was here, the more time she wasted. Rowle hadn’t broken down under any of Natasha’s methods of interrogation. Zabini was now wrapped up under his lawyer’s blanket of imaginary protection, citing coercion and attacking Auror’s under threat of death. Selwyn… The Healer’s speculated that he’d suffered from the Cruciatius Curse one too many times, and the amount of electricity from Clint’s arrow had fried him. They were trying to fix the damage, but his mental state hadn’t been great to start with. Whatever information he might have had was lost to them for now.

Hermione grabbed her wand from the table, calling on a happy memory. Her parents immediately came to mind, their traditional Christmas movie watching filling her head. She closed her eyes and banished the memory, knowing already that it wouldn’t work. She couldn’t hold a Patronus to those memories anymore, her brain always switching to the night she’d found them while she was trying to concentrate. 

She thought of Harry and Ron instead. She brought up the time they’d been lounging by the lake. Ron had been skipping rocks across the water, and the Giant Squid had decided to come out to play. Its tentacle had smoothly slipped out of the water without them noticing, slithering its way up to Ron. It wasn’t until the tentacle had wrapped around Ron’s waist that they’d noticed something, Ron instantly panicking and trying to get away. A small smile graced her lips at the memory before she whispered, “Expecto Patronum.”

Her wand started to glow, and while her otter slipped free, the memory changed. Gone was Harry and Hermione laughing on the ground while Ron shouted at them to do something. Instead, she saw herself reading about Harry’s death, remembered the punch of disbelief. Then it switched to being so close to Ron and having to fight the pull to see him. Merlin, her mind had been wrung dry from trying to resist. 

The spell fizzled out.

Hermione lowered her wand, her gaze downcast. They’d never have moments like that again. A dull throb started up in her chest, her heart aching.

She’d get dressed instead, Hermione decided. She couldn’t very well be standing around in a hospital gown when Kingsley came to bust her out. When she was ready, she’d try again. If that didn’t work, she’d just tell the Healer she was discharging herself. There was only so much cooperation she’d give them before going her own way.

The work of putting on her clothes steadied her. First came her shirt and trousers, and then she secured the wand holster onto her wrist. She wouldn’t slip her wand in there until she was leaving in case she needed it before then. She picked up the overcoat, inspecting it with her magic. They were imbued with minimal protection spells, meant to act as an emergency shield for little spells. When she was assured it still worked well enough, she put it on before going for her boots.

Hermione stopped when she saw the small gun and holder. It’d been hidden under the coat. It was the model Clint made her carry when they were on assignment. She was surprised St. Mungos hadn’t confiscated it as soon as she was stripped. Muggle weaponry was heavily frowned upon. Still, she reached for it anyway, knowing Clint wouldn’t be impressed if she conveniently forgot it. 

She was attempting to finger comb her curls when her Healer came in. The strands were fighting her per usual, so she was glad to forget about them for the time being. “Perfect. Look, I don’t think staying here another day is necessary. I feel fine.”

He held out a potion for her to take. “Drink this and you’ll be gone.”

Hermione accepted the bottle. “Excellent. I’m glad you see it my way. I’m sure another patient needs this room more than I do.” She lifted the bottle to her face, inspecting the bubbly red liquid. “What is it?”

“Drink this and you’ll be gone.”

Hermione gave the Healer a confused look. “I know. I’m simply asking what it is.” She focused on him more when she saw he was looking straight ahead. “Are you okay?”

“Drink this and you’ll be gone.”

“Petrificus Totalus.”

Hermione felt the impact of the spell hit her, but a small shield shimmered into view before it faded. She dropped the bottle and dove for her wand, the glass shattering once it smashed against the tile.

“Confringo.”

The ball of fire sent her flying before she could grasp the wood. She felt the searing heat break the coat’s shield, heard the sound of the alarms go off as the bed caught fire. Hermione grit her teeth against the pain spreading through her legs. The shield had taken the brunt of the spell, she told herself. She needed to move.

“Petrificus Totalus.”

The words were spoken against her ear, the spell catching her this time. Hermione felt herself stiffen like a board. Her eyes moved to the side, trying to get a glimpse of him. She needn’t have worried. A moment later, Dolohov turned her onto her back. He grinned at her, ignoring the flames that jumped from the bed and the wailing growing louder in the background. “Doesn’t feel good, does it? Ah, Kotyonok, you should have drunk the potion.”

Where was the Healer? Why wasn’t anyone coming? Hermione urged her magic to fight his spell, shouting the counterspell in her mind. Her eyes glared at him when leaned closer, his hand creeping up her neck.

“And now, this is mine.” With one strong yank, he broke the chain disillusioned around her neck. The spell broke, revealing the stone. He held up the broken metal, shaking his head. “So much power in one little rock. Death is truly a magnificent creature.”

Something gave way with a booming snap.

“That would be the Wards. Avery does know how to listen.” Dolohov hooked his arms under her, lifting her into his embrace. “Off we go, Kotyonok. The Auror’s will be here any second.”

He apparated them away as the first Auror’s were arriving.

* * *

Clint bumped shoulders with Natasha, trying to console her as the frustrated redhead left the interrogation room. “You’ll get somewhere eventually.”

Natasha shook her head, moving to the side to avoid a few paper airplanes flying their way. She started towards Weasley’s office. “I need to get a baseline on what these Wizards are capable of. Can’t make him uncomfortable if magic keeps sustaining him, and this government won’t let me go the hard route.”

“Anything?” Ron asked as they walked into a small room. There was a single desk taking up the middle, a huge board set up next to it. Paper stuck to the board with magic, the space crowded with files pertaining to this case. Clint stared at the mugshot of Dolohov, his moving face seething at the camera before he grinned and the sequence repeated itself. He’d been quiet since the funeral, too quiet, and it was making him antsy.

“If you count my poor tainted Muggle blood anything,” Natasha said. “I don’t think we’ll break him in time to find out anything useful, not without getting physical.”

“As long as he’s a captive of the Ministry, I still have laws to follow.” Ron ran a hand through his hair. “Just letting you two be here freely is skirting a fine line. Hermione will take a crack at him when she’s released from St.Mungos. She’ll be dying to, and she always knows what buttons to push to make them curse her.” He glanced up when he felt two pairs of eyes on him. “I meant figuratively this time. Though, the latter happens too.”

Clint thrummed his fingers on the desk. “I don’t like that he’s too quiet. Run us through what happens if he gets the stone and the wand.”

Ron sighed, “Bear in mind, I didn’t actually read the bloody book Hermione has locked away. But I do know that being the Master of all three Hallows is one step. She told us he’d need to take a descendant from each Peverell line for the ritual as well.”

“Do we know who those descendants are?” Natasha tilted her head as she considered. “If the worst-case scenario happens, they need to be protected.”

Ron laughed lightly, shaking his head. “Ah, well, this is where Hermione would rant about the idiocy of the Wizarding World. The Peverell’s were a prominent Wizarding family a long time ago. Pureblood families would have been vying to tie their bloodlines together. We have a family tree, of course, but that doesn’t account for everyone, just those known through history. Any British magical could claim ancestry, and that doesn’t even begin to cover Squibs.” He shrugged. “What I’m getting at is there is no way to protect everyone with a Peverell connection.”

“So the best course of action is to make sure he doesn’t get any more Hallows,” Clint reaffirmed. “Why-”

Head Auror Robards barged into the room, eyes skipping over them to Ron. “We need to go. The Wards at St.Mungos are down.”

Ron paled instantly. “Mione, no.” 

Clint grabbed the Wizard by the arm, his free hand reaching for the bow he’d left against the desk. “Take me there! Now!”

Ron nodded and raced from the room. Clint and Natasha followed, becoming two of a dozen more bodies running from every corner of the floor to the fireplace. Auror’s started apparating from there, one throwing powder into the fireplace and turning it from green to red with a flick of his wand. 

Clint fought nausea when they landed in the hospital, but only his hardened SHIELD persona kept him from reacting to the scene in front of him.

The nurse who’d gotten him coffee every time he came to see Hermione was slumped over her work station, wand rolled off to the side not too far from her. She wasn’t the only one. Witches and Wizards littered the ground, blood pooling around them. Most were wearing the robes with the hospital logo embroidered on them. The others had been dressed in the thin gowns of patients. Auror’s were already running to them, but Clint knew it was too late.

He didn’t waste time trying to find any survivors in the mess, loosely nocking an arrow as he ran to Hermione’s room. A thick trail of smoke flowed down the hall, the color deepening the further he got. He didn’t hear any sounds of fighting, the corridor too quiet for the battle he expected to jump in on. 

The bed, chair, and table were engulfed when he ran in. He ducked his head down and to the side to avoid getting hit directly with the smoke, his eyes stinging. “Hermione!” he coughed out. 

Ron skid into the room, his eyes searching. He held out his wand to the flames. “Aguamenti!” A thick stream of water burst from the wood, dowsing the fire. He jabbed his wand at the smoke, turning the tip in small circles. The smoke lessened, being drawn towards the wand and disappearing before it made contact. 

Clint knew she was gone before the smoke finished clearing out.

Her doctor was lying prone in a corner. Ron went over and knelt by him, pressing his fingers to his throat. “He’s alive.”

Natasha walked past him and bent over, picking something up. When she stood, he saw Hermione’s wand. Clint took a deep breath to rein his temper in, taking the time to put the arrow back in his quiver and to break down his bow. He wouldn’t need it now. They’d gotten who’d they’d come for. 

His mouth tightened. He’d only been gone a few hours.

The doctor had inhaled a lot of smoke, but he’d been the only survivor in this wing. Another Wizard was brought up to treat him while the Auror’s shut down the scene. Clint kept out of the way, holding tight to Hermione’s wand as he watched her friend. The man was doing his job, but his eyes were angry. His gaze kept darting to the room the doctor was being seen in, his wand held firmly in his grasp.

“He’s going to lose it.”

Clint didn’t look at Natasha. She’d been watching him too. “If I knew where she was, I’d already be gone.”

“I’d be right behind you, but we’re trained to keep our cool despite any circumstance.” She jerked his head in Ron’s direction. “He’s emotional and hanging on to the chance the doc can tell us something. The way this situation is headed, that hotheadedness could get someone killed.”

“Dolohov didn’t have to take her,” Clint said. “From the start, he toyed with her and now she’s with him without her wand.”

Natasha bumped his shoulder with hers. “Her gun wasn’t in the room. She has a way to defend herself.”

Clint sighed and let his head fall back against the wall, ignoring the small pang he got from the thud. “It takes her forever to hit what she’s aiming for. That doesn’t reassure me.”

“Okay, Barton, I’m going to need you to keep it cool for me.” Natasha eyed him seriously. “I can’t make sure the other one doesn’t do something stupid if I have to watch out for you too.”

“I am cool, Nat.” Clint looked over as the door opened. “I’m always cool.” He walked off without another word, going to Ron as the Wizard started stalking to the open room.

“Yeah, you’re always cool until you aren’t,” Natasha murmured. “That’s what worries me.”

The doctor was haggard, weary eyes resting on them before he closed them and leaned back on his bed. “Imperiused.”

Clint didn’t know what that meant but Ron did, judging by his deepening scowl. “Tell us what happened from the beginning. Who put you under the curse?”

“I was in my office after seeing Auror Granger, and Antonin Dolohov appeared in my office out of nowhere. He handed me a potion and told me if I valued my life, I’d give it to her. I refused, of course, but the next thing I knew I was trapped in my mind while my body obeyed him.” He took a deep breath. “Drink this, and you’ll be gone. That’s what I told her.”

“Did she?” Ron asked.

He let out a dry chuckle, “Since when has Auror Granger done anything I ask the first time? She makes the worst patient.” He cleared his throat. “No, she had enough sense to be suspicious. Dolohov attacked and took her before she could try and defend herself.”

Ron nodded. “How did they leave?”

The doctor was silent for a moment. “I can remember her being blasted across the room before he knocked me out. After that, I have no idea. But my colleague tells me the Wards are down, so they must have apparated.”

They asked him a few more questions, but the man knew nothing more. Clint battled frustration at what the man didn’t know. He didn’t know how hurt she was. He didn't know what Dolohov had hit her with. He didn’t know what the potion was. Clint understood after a while that being Imperiused meant being under some form of mind control. He’d been able to see what he was doing, but unable to stop himself from doing it.

“That could have come in handy on a few missions,” Natasha muttered to Clint.

Clint only shrugged. It sounded like hell, actually. He didn’t like the thought of not being in control of his own actions.

They left him alone when the Minister arrived at the hospital. It was clear the Wizard wouldn’t be of any more use to them, and he needed the rest. Ron stalked out of the room, waving his wand once and muttering low before taking off in a different direction. Clint paused when he saw the Auror’s levitating the slaughtered hospital staff onto stretchers. 

There’d be a dozen more funerals like the one he’d been to. All because of one man. In some areas, Hermione’s people weren’t so different from regular humans after all.

Clint found the room Nat had followed Weasley into in time to see him punch the wall. “Damn it!”

The Minister sighed, “Ron-”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” Ron shook out his fist as he started pacing, the knuckles red. “That bloody bastard managed to get in here and Imperius a damn Healer without anyone noticing something was amiss. In between the time he was doing that and attacking Hermione, he killed an entire wing of Mediwitches, Healers, and patients. Then he took down one giant Ward structure that has been active since St. Mungos was first built. All without sounding an alarm.” He paused, his hand fisting again as he considered the wall, but then whirled around to face the Minister. “So don’t tell me to be calm.”

“Avery is still at large,” Kingsley reminded him. 

Ron shook his head. “No, there’s no need to worry about him. It’s Dolohov behind all this. He was the fucking Curse Breaker once upon a time. I’d have taken down Avery if Zabini hadn’t pulled some powerful spells out of his arse.”

“He will be a worry,” Clint disagreed. He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back against the wall. “He managed to keep you from coming to Hermione’s aid when Dolohov had her, and then when we would have taken his leader down, he disengaged with you and got him out of there. Avery may not be the ringleader of this circus, but he knows how to follow orders and well.”

“Okay, fine.” Ron started pacing again. “But forget Avery for now. Right now we need to find out where they’re staying.”

“We have a list of holdings under their families,” Kingsley told them. “I’ve already instructed Robards to get started.”

“There’s not enough time! Do you know have many properties these families probably own, that  _ Zabini _ owns alone?”

“Hermione thought Rowle was the one we needed to crack,” Natasha said. “I can go back and work on him now.”

“Not so fast.” Kingsley held up a hand. “I was able to keep a lid on this, mostly, until now. In light of the St. Mungos massacre, the Wizengmont has asked to be appraised of everything that’s happened so far. They aren’t going to take Hermione’s blatant breaking of the Statute well. You’ll need to stand before them and help me convince them that it was in our best interest that you two were brought into our world.”

“Hermione has been  _ taken _ and you’re taking them to play politics,” Ron said in disgust. He thrust a hand in Clint’s direction. “She’s going to marry him, for Merlin’s sake.”

“Yet the law states he couldn’t know until they were married,” Kingsley stated. “That doesn’t protect Miss Romanov either. You call it playing politics, but I call it ensuring Hermione doesn’t come back to a legal mess.”

“You gave her permission when we came back.”

“Yes, I did, and now I’ll have to justify that too.”

Clint sighed, wanting nothing more than to tell these people where they could shove their inquiry. Every minute wasted was a minute Hermione spent with her captors. She had no wand, was possibly hurt, and at the mercy of someone who hated her so much his malicious magic had latched onto her. He took a deep breath, released, and did it again. Yeah, he wanted no part in anything that kept him from looking for her.

Natasha spoke up before Clint could make his opinion known. “Let’s get it over with then.” She sent Clint a warning glance. “The only way we’ll get back without any more interruptions is cooperation, Barton. We know how it can go.” She looked at the other two men. “Hermione is tough. She’ll hold out long enough to either get herself out or for us to come to her. We still have the advantage. Dolohov needs the wand, and the only person he can take it from is never alone anymore.”

“Hermione was alone for a few hours only,” Ron whispered. “Besides, it won’t matter if…” He shook his head. “Fine, Kingsley, go play games with the Wizengmont. I’ll be at the Ministry.”

They watched him walk out of the room, shoulders slumped and hands shoved in his pockets. 

“He won’t stay objective,” Natasha said.

“Not everyone has our training, Nat.” Clint wanted to follow him out. He didn’t want to be fucking objective either. He couldn’t.

“Harry, Ron, and Hermione have been a team since they were eleven years old,” Kingsley said. “They were inseparable and having to split was one of the hardest things they’d ever done, and that’s saying something considering… Now Harry is dead and Hermione is missing.” He sighed, “Come on, then. The Wizengmont is assembling within the hour. We have some stories to go over.”

Just hold out, Hermione. Clint sent the thought out even as he followed the Minister. 

  
  
  
  



	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge shout out to S.Joan and thescarletphoenixx for their work on this story!

Hermione glared up at Antonin Dolohov from her position on the ground. After he’d apparated her bound body away from St. Mungos, Dolohov had used a series of jumps to bring her to a familiar mansion. The Lestrange family seat was considered abandoned after the death of its two known heirs. Evidently, the Ministry hadn’t found anyone with a family connection yet to claim it. No one would have thought to look for fugitives here, not when old properties like these were protected by anchored Blood Wards. 

Of course, Dolohov had been a Curse Breaker before his descent to evil follower. Part of their training and expertise had to deal with Wards. Hermione was stupid for not considering that before.

He’d proudly shown her the piece of rope he’d charmed to bind her before wrapping it around her wrists. Her magic was limited almost entirely, trapped inside her body with no outlet. She could feel her power roiling beneath her skin, trying to act on her desire to be free but unable to do so. Her voice was gone as well without anyone casting a silencing spell on her. Dolohov had found great joy in her realization, boasting how he’d worked the charm into the ropes as well, citing payback for her underhandedness years ago. 

So all she could do was send him scathing looks. The man didn’t even have the decency to keep silent, taking delight in torturing her with his smugness.

“Really, Kotyonok, you brought this on yourself. Curiosity killed the cat, no? And you spend too much time sticking your nose in business that does not concern you.”

It wasn’t as if she was an Auror and he a war criminal, she thought. How rude of her not to let them continue living their lives, unpunished and forever breaking the law. 

Dolohov crouched down, his fingers brushing her legs. “I hope the pain has gone away. Not everyone can survive a blasting curse and only come away with ripped trousers and minor burns.” He shrugged. “That’s Auror standard for you. The Ministry does like to take care of their attack dogs when it suits them.”

Hermione  _ had _ been lucky her coat’s shield had taken the brunt of the curse. It hadn’t held, not against an attack so strong, but the alternative would have been major burns and possible loss of limbs. She remembered a victim of the Battle of Hogwarts who’d been hit by a blast. He’d survived for a few hours, but both his legs had been burnt to crisps, as well as part of his right arm. Dying had been a mercy.

Dolohov smirked. “Not going to defend the very seat of power that gives you importance?”

Hermione glared harder.

He sighed, “I was extremely disappointed when you up and disappeared on me without notice, Kotyonok. That wasn’t very nice of you.” He shook his head in apparent sadness. “And after I thought our relationship was developing beautifully. I was planning on sending you a nice gift when you got promoted.”

Hermione lifted a brow, telling him with her face exactly what he could do with his gifts.

He laughed, “So unappreciative. How do you expect to ever land a proper Wizard.” He scowled. “But you don’t want a Wizard, do you? You’ve decided to waste your brand new bloodline on a Muggle.”

Avery walked into the room, his wand held loosely in his hand. “Rowle gave him the bait. He’s undoing the Wards now.”

Dolohov let out a sigh of satisfaction, stretching to his feet with a grin. “Lions are so predictable.” He turned his smile on Hermione. “You’ll be reunited with your friend soon. In the meantime, Avery is going to keep you company. Try to be a better conversation partner for him, will you? He doesn’t prefer women who keep themselves silent.”

He laughed at his own joke, walking away with his wand ready.

* * *

Ronald Weasley circled the Lestrange property, looking for the weakest point in the Wards so that he could blast them apart. He was here without approval, but Robards had all their resources dedicated to clearing other locations. The Head Auror was also participating in the political mess happening with the Wizengamot right now, and any attempts to get through to him had been met with denial. He didn’t have time to wait on government red tape, not when Hermione was so close.

He should have seen her abduction coming a mile away. But he’d been making mistakes for years, starting with them taking the Hallows to different parts of the world. He’d been the one to suggest it, and then Dolohov had gone to ground as a result. Harry had died alone, his sister now had to raise his nephews and niece without their father, and two of the Hallows were in his hands. He’d gone and fallen in love with a woman who knew nothing of where he came from, and he’d left her in tears because he wouldn’t tell her what he was or why he had to leave. He’d been the one to suggest that even Dolohov wouldn’t dare attack St. Mungos to get to Hermione with so many people around. Now there were several Mediwitches and Healers dead just for being there. 

He found the weakness at the edge of the Wards near the back of the property. 

He’d have backup soon, he told himself as he lifted his wand. He was about to use a spell only Auror’s used when given permission from the Minister of the Wizengamot. He had authorization from neither. 

Bringing his wand down on the invisible barrier he shouted, “Intermissum!”

Gold lines spread from his wand and over the Wards, spreading quickly as the magic reached to cover the entire property. Red runes glowed when the magic uncovered them, mapping out the entire warding scheme for the Lestrange family and erasing them as fast as they’d appeared. Finally, when all Ron could see was a sea of gold and red, there was a loud crack. Particles of magic fell to the ground like pieces of glass.

He took one step forward and met no resistance.

That’s when the clapping started.

Ron stood still when hands appeared first, followed by the rest of Dolohov as he shook the hood off the Invisibility Cloak. “Consider me suitably impressed. Blood Wards are hard to break, even for Auror’s.”

He leveled his wand at him, in no mood to play games. “Where is she?”

Dolohov shrugged. “Where I left her, probably. One can never know with that one, but I’m sure she’s still tied up with Avery.” He chuckled.

Bastard. He was going to kill him. “Any minute now, a dozen Auror’s are going to swarm this location. You’re done, Dolohov.”

“A dozen Auror’s, eh?” Antonin sighed, “Guess I better not waste time.”

Ron lost control of his wand when someone grabbed him from behind. One arm wrapped around his neck, pulling tight and cutting off his air. He brought his arms up, pulling at the small hairs on his skin to distract his attacker as he hooked his ankle around the person’s leg. 

The arm jerked his neck up, pressing down on his windpipe.

His magic reacted, forcing the two Wizards apart. Ron rolled with gravity as he fell to the ground, reaching for his wand and springing up to face the two men.

Thorfinn Rowle was picking himself up off the ground.

Ron blinked in shock. He’d just left the man locked with Zabini in Ministry custody. How had he gotten out? He aimed at Rowle, a binding spell on his lips. 

Ron jerked as magic hit his back, his knees giving out before everything went dark.

* * *

He opened his eyes as a wand was moving out of his face. 

“Get up.”

When Ron didn’t move fast enough, he was lifted to his knees. He looked around as they did so. They were in a large room lit by dim candles, casting shadows along the walls. It seemed like a normal guest area; expensive couches were spaced throughout the room and the walls were filled with art. He couldn’t make out anything else, the room too dark. 

A familiar wand was shoved in his face. Ron’s eyes traveled from the hand offering it to him to see Dolohov watching him. He didn’t try and take it. There was only one reason the Russian bastard would be giving him the Elder Wand. Ron wasn’t going to play into his game.

“This is yours, is it not?” Antonin asked.

“You seem to have it now,” Ron told him. “Congratulations. I hope it treats you well.”

Antonin laughed, moving away from them. The same hands from before, Thorfinn’s hands, came down on his shoulders, preventing him from getting up. “Don’t be snide. We both know what it’s going to take for me to truly be its Master.”

“That’s too bad then.” Ron shrugged. “Though I don’t think it’s worth it. The wand’s too alluring for the wrong sorts of Wizards.”

Dolohov moved the wand back and forth as if he was wagging his finger. “That’s not for you to decide, my friend. Your job is to simply cede control of the wand to me.” He inclined his head. “I will make life very painful for you if you don’t.”

Ron knew, as anyone who sought the wand did, that Dolohov simply couldn’t kill him and be done with it. The Elder Wand was sentient in a way few magical artifacts were. Its allegiance would only change if it was won in a proper duel. Ron had taken the wand from Harry using a disarming charm, but then, the wand had only settled with him because Harry had truly no longer wanted it. What happened after… Ron knew of the one way he could save his life. He’d been told to do it should the time ever come.

They’d both known as soon as it was suggested, he’d never do it.

“I won’t duel you,” Ron said softly. “Torture me if you want, but I won’t do it.”

Dolohov studied him for a moment before shaking his head. “You mean that. You’ll take what I do to you until your body eventually gives out. What would I do then? We both know the wand will never accept me that way.” He dropped his head, hair falling around his face. “Bring her out.”

Something shifted in the shadows, and then Hermione was there.

Ron made to move towards her, getting to his feet, but Rowle held him still when he would have lunged and slammed him back to the ground. He clenched his teeth against the pain that shot up his knees, making eye contact with Hermione. Her clothes were torn and singed, hands bound behind her back. Avery had the tip of his wand shoved under her neck. She wasn’t in any lingering pain that he could see, she hadn’t been tortured. 

She opened her mouth but nothing came out, aggravation shooting from her eyes. She shot Dolohov a glare.

Dolohov sauntered towards her, clutching her chin with his hand and jerking her head up. His other hand slid down the front of her shirt, slipping under the bottom. Avery moved his wand away from her neck, gripping her arms and pushing up against her. Dolohov looked at Ron. “Still no?”

Ron kept his eyes on Hermione. She was forced to keep facing Dolohov, but her head gave the tiniest shake.

He struggled in Rowle’s hold when Hermione twisted, her mouth opening on a soundless scream. “No! Damn you! Leave her alone!” They kept her restrained, Dolohov keeping their eyes locked together as she squirmed. “Mione!”

Dolohov removed his hand, Hermione slumping and forcing Avery to shift his weight to keep her up. He looked over, tilting his head in question. “Now?” When Ron didn’t say anything, he sighed, “Very well. Maybe if she isn’t silenced? That should bring back some memories.”

“No! Wait!” Ron ignored Hermione closing her eyes. He’d vowed a long time ago that he’d never let her be tortured again if he could help it. He’d failed Harry, he wasn’t about to fail her too. One of his worst nightmares was hearing her scream and beg for her life while he was useless to do anything about it. Never again. “I’ll give you your duel.” 

“Excellent.” Dolohov walked away from Hermione, handing him the Elder Wand casually. “Know that your sacrifice is appreciated. Let him go, Finn.”

Ron yanked himself away from the hands restraining him, getting into position even as he glanced at Hermione one final time. She was watching him helplessly, her body practically vibrating with bound power. He wasn’t sure how Dolohov had done it, but hopefully, Ron could distract him enough for her to break free. “I love you,” he told her.

She swallowed, mouthing the words back.

And then the duel began.

Antonin Dolohov’s strategy in a duel could be categorized as defensive, at least to start. In all reality, it was watchful. He sent spells out to gauge reactions, learning his opponents’ moves while forming a plan inside that twisted brain of his. Once he had all the information he felt he needed, he’d strike, going from defensive to offensive in the blink of an eye. Bill had been the one to teach them that before the war really started in earnest. It was a testament to his training as a Curse Breaker, his older brother adopting a similar fighting style. 

Ron kept that in mind when he blocked a simple stunning spell, retaliating with a leg-locking curse Dolohov easily dodged. If the Wizard had wanted the duel over and done with, far nastier curses would be flying his way. Every other Witch and Wizard he’d encountered over the years had gone straight for the Avada. No, the bastard was toying with him, learning how he responded to things. But Ron figured if he could keep Dolohov on the defensive, unable to throw spells back, then he’d retain the advantage and overwhelm him. 

If he could force him to submit, then it was over. Even if Dolohov killed them all later, the Elder Wand would never give its allegiance to him.

_ Depulso! Bombarda! Flipendo!  _ Ron cast his magic without saying a word, not giving Dolohov a chance to hear what was coming. Of the three of them, he’d always been able to keep up this type of casting the longest. He followed up with  _ Impedimenta _ , trying to slow Dolohov down so that he could stun and bind him.

Antonin dodged all of them, weaving around the furniture like a bloody dancer. He sent his own barrage of spells back at Ron, followed by his signature purple flames. Ron knew his shield would break against that curse, so he waited until the last second before jumping to the side. He sent an  _ Expulso _ while he was dodging, missing Dolohov but destroying the couch he’d taken cover behind. 

Back and forth they went, the spells getting progressively darker until Ron knew he’d have to make his big move. He was tiring, and that was making him angry. Dolohov looked like he was having fun, his grin lightning quick as they circled each other. This bastard thought this was a game while Ron was fighting for his life and the life of his remaining best friend. His temper was boiling, fueling his spells but also making him sloppy. He knew, in the back of his mind, that he needed to keep his cool. 

But Dolohov had killed Harry. He’d tortured Hermione and enjoyed it. He’d caused so much misery over the years, and Ron hated him.

Using that hate, he spun away from two more jets of light, pointing his wand in Dolohov’s direction before he’d even stopped. “Avada Kedavra!”

He heard “Sectumsempra!” at the same time the sickly green light left his wand. Ron didn’t have time to dodge, the curse hitting him full on. He stumbled back, tripping over his feet and falling onto his back. The Elder Wand fell from his grip and rolled away, his fingers wet. 

Ron knew he was bleeding, but his body was in too much pain for him to try and do anything about it. It was hard for him to breathe, something was wrong with his lungs. He felt something trickle from the side of his mouth. Merlin, the candles were starting to go out. That couldn’t be good.

Hermione.

He needed to see her, but moving was too bloody hard. He couldn’t feel his legs, couldn’t make his body turn. He tried to find purchase on the ground, but they weren’t working for him either. His sight was dimming by the second, and he knew, deep down, that he needed to see her now. 

He was starting to get cold. Damn it, he hated the cold.

Finally, his head lolled to the side and he saw her. He tried to smile, but he felt liquid trickle from his mouth and down his cheeks, so he stopped. Hermione  _ hated _ when he did that.

She was kneeling on the ground, screaming something and thrashing, making it hard for Avery to keep a hold of her. She was crying, something Ron didn’t understand. He’d done it. He’d used an Unforgivable on Dolohov, but if it meant they’d won, he was sure the Wizengamot would forgive him. Really, Avery should worry less about her and more about the Auror’s that were bound to break these doors down any minute. He didn’t know what the hold up was, but he knew they’d be there. 

The group would fall apart without their mad leader anyways, they always did.

She was starting to fade, his eyes blurring. If he could make his hands work for him, he’d rub them, but it was no use. What’d he really give an entire month's pay for was a warming charm. The room was too bloody cold now. He wasn’t used to English temperatures after spending so much time away. 

He thought of her, waiting for him to come back. Or maybe she wasn’t. She’d been too mad at the time to give him a proper send-off. Of course, he’d been in no mood for one. But now that everything was done, he could go back, explain everything to her, and bring her to meet the family. He’d even take Hermione with him, and her bloke. Clint could help her make sense of everything, Muggle to Muggle. She had to understand. He loved her too much to see her walk away.

“Ron!”

The voice, so desperate and distraught, brought him out of his thoughts. It was too dark for him to make out everything, but he saw Hermione was unbound and Avery was crumpled on the floor. She lunged for him, but then Rowle was tackling her. Fuck, he’d forgotten about him. How come the room was freezing when that bastard was here?

He needed to watch her back, he needed to move.

But his body refused to cooperate, and then he could no longer see, and the last thing he heard before he faded was Dolohov’s laughter.

* * *

There was a reason Clint hated politics. 

He and Natasha had been standing with Hermione’s boss, Robards, for what felt like hours now while men and women debated what to do with them. The Minister was presiding over the entire thing, leaving the older Auror to be their defense. He didn’t understand what they didn’t seem to get. A fugitive they’d wanted for years was on the loose with two powerful magical artifacts, and all they wanted to do was talk about his girlfriend.

“The audacity of that girl!” One man shouted, his face turning red from anger. “She can’t just break the law when it suits her. We aren’t at war anymore!”

“Members of the Wizengamot,” Robards started. “There were extenuating circumstances to Auror Granger breaking the Statute. Minister Shacklebolt gave his permission.” He gestured to Clint. “She is going to marry this man, who would have been brought into the secret of our world anyway.”

“Minister Shacklebolt has always played favorites with his little Order members.”

This was such a waste of time. They obviously didn’t consider either of them a threat, they’d let them keep their weapons with only a standard warning not to try and use them. They’d been told that Hermione jinxed them against saying anything about the Wizarding World to other Muggles. Clint didn’t remember her doing that, but if that’s what was needed to get them out of here, he’d let them go on believing the lie. 

Not knowing where she was, what they were doing to her, was driving him crazy. He itched to be out there, looking for her. They had Auror’s clearing properties all over the place, but Clint felt he had a handle on how Antonin Dolohov’s mind worked. At least, he knew the type. The man wouldn’t risk hiding in a place that could lead back to any of their captives. The Minister had mentioned to Robards that they may be somewhere unplottable, whatever the hell that meant. Magic threw everything out the window, in his mind. 

Clint heard a commotion outside, but it quickly died down. That hadn’t been the first time he’d heard people outside the chamber doors. 

But unlike the other times, the doors were slammed open with magic. No normal shove would have done it. Clint whirled around, his hands reaching for his bow, but stopped when he recognized the two Eldest Weasley’s storming into the room. He didn’t relax. Their eyes were wild and red, tension radiating through their pores. Something was wrong.

“These are closed sessions!” Robards barked at the two Auror’s that followed the men in, a third slipping in behind them. “You know the drill. Everybody stays out!” 

“Kingsley,” Bill called out. “We need to talk to you.”

“As I said,” The same Wizard from before said as he gestured to the scene.

The Minister held up his hand to stop the muttering voices. “Bill, Charlie, we can take this in my office-”

“It’s Ron,” Charlie interrupted, his voice rough. “The clock put him in Mortal Peril, but now his hands fallen off.” He closed his eyes. “Mum noticed it a while ago, been inconsolable ever since.”

Clint didn’t know what clock they were talking about, but the meaning was clear. Ron was dead. He swore low, once again helpless to do anything. Where the hell had he gone? He’d been ordered to stay here in the building. Clint could only think of one reason why he would set out on his own when the rest of his department was out. He’d found Hermione.

At the declaration, the soft mutters grew louder as everyone tried talking over each other. Natasha murmured, “That’s three.”

The third Auror cautiously made his way over to Robards, his face warily eyeing the irate Wizards trying to talk to Kingsley. “Sir…”

“What is it?” Robards asked wearily. “Aren’t you supposed to be coordinating with our French counterparts on the property searches?”

“I was-am,” he said. He held up a piece of parchment. “But this came in, and I think you need to see it.” His eyes shifted to the Weasley’s again. “It has to do with Auror Weasley.”

Robards snatched the paper from him, scanning it before cursing, “Son of a bitch.” He looked up at the Auror. “Recall everyone in the field and send them to this location.” He looked over at Clint and Natasha. “I’m responsible for you two now, so come with me.”

“Head Auror Robards!” Someone shouted as they walked away. “Where are you going? This session is not over!”

“To do my fucking job!” 

Clint jogged to keep up with the Auror. “Where are we going?”

“The Lestrange Mansion.” Robards took the single set of stairs that led out of this level. “It isn’t on our list because they died when all this started, but Weasley used a spell to break the Blood Wards. There’s only one reason why he’d do that.”

Clint ignored the name and the fact he didn’t know what Blood Wards were. Those details weren’t important. “That’s where Hermione is.” He swallowed. “Ron’s dead.” He didn’t think about what that could mean.

“Looks that way, but I refuse to believe it until I see his body. There are ways to get around family magic.” Robards scowled when a piercing wail started out of nowhere. “What now?”

Natasha looked around in confusion. “What is that?”

“Ministry alarm.” Robards pushed through a door with a large two on it. “Status!”

The Auror from before pulled his head out of the green flames in the fireplace, his face close to panicked. “Zabini and Rowle are loose. We’re not sure what happened yet, only that the guards are dead.”

Robards stopped in place and closed his eyes. After a second, he opened them again, his stance set to turn. “Change of plans. We’re getting the Minister to his house.”

Clint snagged the Auror’s robes before he could start walking again. “I think your Minister is as safe as he is anywhere. Think about it. Where would they go once they got free?” They’d make their way back to Dolohov. Clint was sure of it. He didn’t know where this mansion was. He needed Robards to stay on course.

The Auror nodded. “You’re right. They’ll go there.” He walked to the other Wizard. “Send a message to the Minister, and tell him to get to his office and stay there. Keep recalling our people.”

They were too late.

Clint knew as soon as he finished throwing up from the hasty teleporting that Hermione was long gone. He kept his guard up, backing Robards as they swept through the front entrance. But he knew. 

They found Ron in a large sitting room. Blood pooled around him from long slices to his body. There was too much blood for him to be alive, but Robards knelt and took his pulse before shaking his head somberly. “Damn it.” 

Auror’s started pouring in, their shouts echoing through the large estate as they cleared it. Clint didn’t hold out hope Dolohov had left a clue to where they went. Natasha thought the same, her voice low and frustrated. “He has all three Hallows now. He’s probably at the ritual site by now.”

Clint kicked the wall with the bottom of his foot. “We don’t know where that is.” He bunched his fist and hit the wall as his frustration spiked. The pain didn’t bother him. “I know Hermione’s still alive. I’d  _ feel _ it if she weren’t.”

Natasha laid a hand on his shoulder. “I believe it. We need to go back to the case file. There may be a chance one of them knew where it would take place, and didn’t say anything.”

“What we need is that damn book that started it all.” An Auror spoke up as he walked to them. “Auror Jones. I’ve been instructed to take you back to the Ministry.”

Clint straightened as his mind flashed back to the board in Weasley’s office. “The book. Where did Hermione find the book? It was a cave, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, warded and hidden for years without magical detection.” Auror Jones backed up a step when they looked at him. “I was part of the team there that day.”

Clint grabbed his arm. “Let’s go,” he ordered. 

  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  



	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge shout out to S.Joan and thescarletphoenixx for their work on this story!

They were back where it all started.

Hermione looked around the cave dully. She was bound again, her skin bruised from how hard Rowle had held her when Dolohov gleefully showed her his extra set of rope. She’d tried to fight them, knocking Avery out at the same time her bindings had burnt up in her flames of trademark blue. Normally, the bluebell flames would not have been able to power through enchanted rope, only singe, but her need had powered the spell to her advantage. 

Her only thought at the time had been to get to Ron. She knew the countercurse to that particularly nasty spell. If she could have made it to him…. But Thorfinn had stopped her with his body, sending them both crashing to the floor and disorienting her enough that he’d been able to crush her attempts to get away. 

He’d looked at her. Hermione would never forget the instant she’d seen the life fade from his eyes. She’d known the second he’d died that he was gone.

Now she had no fight left in her.

First Harry and now Ron. Hermione was all that was left of a team some said were unbeatable. They’d failed. Antonin Dolohov had all three Hallows, and he’d use them to become the true Master of Death. 

It wasn’t fair.

He didn’t even know what kind of magic he was playing with, what it truly meant to harness the power of Death. Or maybe he did and didn’t care. Maybe he knew  _ exactly _ what he was doing, and thought he could change the fate of the one who succeeded in this mad quest. She knew the rumors that passed through scholars and the Sacred Twenty-Eight. To have Death do your bidding was to become Death itself. 

What they didn’t know was that the rumor wasn’t simply a play on words. 

“Got it!”

Hermione’s eyes landed on Blaise Zabini as he walked triumphantly into the cave. In his hands was a familiar aged book. She’d last secured it in the safe at her flat. He gave it to Dolohov with a giddy flourish, the older man taking it and flipping through the pages. “Was it hard to retrieve?”

Zabini sent her a sneer as he answered. “Of course not. I only had to trace your pattern over her safe once, and her Wards broke.”

Dolohov found the page he wanted. “We begin now.” 

Zabini, Avery, and Rowle stood together while Antonin pulled out his wand. He sent her a wink before he waved it in a forward arc. Black flames shot forth, landing a few feet in front of him and spreading to either side of the cave walls. Hermione sucked in a breath at the wave of dark magic coming from the fire.  _ Protego Diabolica _ . The protection spell hinged on the ability of the caster to hold it, similar to Fiendfyre. Whoever tried to pass the ring that considered Dolohov an enemy would die, horribly and without delay. 

Task complete, Dolohov walked back towards his companions. “My friends, today we accomplish what no Wizard has dared to do since the time of the Peverell’s.” Rowle helped him slip on the cloak, fastening it around his throat. “Today we summon Death and bind him to our will.”

Hermione watched as he pushed the sleeve of his shirt up, exposing the faded Dark Mark in its ugly glory. He used the Elder Wand, pressing the tip against the top of his forearm and scoring it down his skin without flinching. Only a few drops of blood dripped to the floor, the red fluid following the path of the wand in a slick trail. Dolohov pulled the wand away from his skin, carving a pattern into the air. The blood followed, twisting and curving until it formed two spirals connected by a single curved line.

The double spiral. It was an ancient symbol representing many things but for the purposes of this ritual, it would bridge the gap between the physical world and the spiritual. Dolohov muttered something too low for her to make out, but soon the spiral began glowing brightly and grew until the entire cave was dimply lit in black and red. 

“And so it begins,” Rowle murmured before making his way behind Blaise.

Hermione had already noticed there were no other captives in the cave. Only Dolohov, Rowle, Zabini, Avery, and her were situated in the circle of cursed flame. Hermione knew what would happen next, so she wasn’t surprised when Thorfinn struck fast, making a slicing motion across Zabini’s throat. Blood spurted from his throat. Hermione couldn’t see his face but she imagined her former classmate was surprised before he fell to the floor, his blood moving in the direction of the spiral and pooling on the ground.

Avery’s mouth was open in shock, and before he could make a move, Dolohov was on him. He struggled, but Hermione’s vision was blocked by Rowle as he stepped in front of her. He jerked her to her feet, bruising her arm as he dragged her forward. “You should be proud that ‘Tonin is giving you the privilege of being a part of history. To think that a Muggleborn such as yourself has ties to the Peverell family.”

“She doesn’t.”

Thorfinn stopped in his tracks. Hermione felt the magic wash over him, holding him still. Dolohov came up behind him, eyes genuinely sorrowful as he held the wand to Rowle’s throat. “I searched and searched, but I could not find a tie linking her to the family. But you, brother, do have such ties on both sides. Thank you.” He kept his gaze locked on hers as he slowly slid his wand to the side. Flecks of blood hit Hermione in the face on the initial surge, but then it ran like a stream towards the swirling pool of dark red. His hand fell from her arm.

Hermione shook her head. “He would have stayed loyal to you forever.”

“I know.” Dolohov cocked his head. “Not going to fight? Have I defeated you so easily, Kotyonok?”

Yes. She lifted her tied hands. “I can’t break this, no matter how much I want to. What good would it do for me to try?” Her mouth firmed. “No, I’m going to watch as you condemn yourself.”

He smirked. “That doesn’t seem like the Golden Girl we all know. What would Potter and Weasley say?”

Hermione looked away.

Dolohov chuckled, “Suit yourself. But just to be sure…” Hermione gasped as a spell struck her midbody, throwing her back a few feet. She landed on her side, pain singing from her hip to her shoulder. “Just in case you decide to be a stupid lion at the wrong moment.”

Hermione could feel the heat of the flames now that she was closer to them, the dark magic like a warning against her senses. If she went back any further, she’d be caught up in the fire. Already, she could feel beads of sweat on her skin, her hair starting to stick to her scalp. Dolohov was chanting, the ritual book floating in front of him. Three bodies lay still on the ground, their lifeblood taken and leaving them dry. The blood itself was swirling slowly, drops of red floating up and disappearing into the double spiral.

Damn it, what was she doing?

_ What would Potter and Weasley say? _ They’d be railing against their bonds, doing everything they could to break free. Knowing Harry, he’d have broken through the enchanted rope on anger alone. They wouldn’t be laying here, waiting for their end to come at the hands of bloody Antonin Dolohov. 

Clint would be coming for her. Somehow, Hermione knew that to be true with every fiber of her being. When no other options seemed viable, someone would remember where the book was found and he’d come. Hermione couldn’t leave him for Dolohov to finish off. The Russian had taken too many from her. Clint wasn’t being added to the list. 

The cave shook. 

Hermione felt a tug on her magic as the cave started shaking. Small chunks of rock fell from the top, most exploding into pieces upon hitting the black flame. Hermione bit her lip on a scream as a sharp rock tore her shirt and nicked her arm. The pull was becoming more intense, her bound magic fighting to break free from her body. Her breathing turned ragged against the onslaught, needing to cast a spell but unable to do anything. 

White light blinded her for a long moment, her eyes squeezing shut in an attempt to protect her sight. Then it was gone and so was the shaking. 

Hermione opened her eyes, blinking rapidly to clear the black spots that dotted her vision. 

She immediately wished she’d kept her eyes closed. 

It stood in front of Dolohov; a massive cloak covered being with discernible features. There were no feet, the being floating a few inches from the ground. There was nothing to distinguish this being as Death but Hermione knew. She could feel the dread in her core, a niggling sense of fear that accompanied her wherever she went. She’d lived with it all her life. Only Harry had been unafraid to die. 

The temperature of the cave had dropped, Hermione’s front feeling cold compared to the heat at her back. She could see frost begin to settle on Thorfinn’s hair. The contrast was shocking, her body experiencing two separate extremes. Hermione tried to push through it to sit up. All she needed to do was sit up.

Dolohov’s tone was nothing less than gleeful as he said, “Finally! It has been many years since you roamed this plane. I, Antonin Dolohov, am the master of your creations. Through this ritual, I bind you to me!”

The cloaked figure did nothing, but as Hermione finally managed to reach a sitting position, she felt its attention on her. 

It knew. 

A contingency within a contingency. Hermione remembered it like it was yesterday. Ronald had won the Elder Wand from Harry through a haphazard duel. Harry had been all too willing to part with the wand, making the allegiance switch questionable. Ginny had asked for his help with James moments after. As soon as he’d disappeared, Hermione had sprung a surprise attack on Ron, her thoughts filled with the need to make him submit, of her desire to make the wand hers. 

He’d put up a fair fight in his confusion, mad as hell when she’d seemed intent to do him harm. He’d settled after she finished explaining her reasoning, calling her plan deceitful and bloody brilliant. 

Dolohov may have won the Elder Wand by killing Ron, but it was never his to lose.

Death would still submit to Dolohov, it was his blood that made up part of the summoning. But Hermione had the true claim, and if she could buy herself time, she could find a way to release him. She just needed Dolohov out of the way. 

She stretched restrained hands to the bottom of her trousers. 

Dolohov didn’t notice her, his gaze riveted on the being before him. “Yes, we will do great things. No longer will you be constrained to a single realm. Under my command-” His voice cut off abruptly, his body jerking.

Hermione shot him, emptying her clip as she fired continuously. She’d aimed for his head, but the bullets riddled down his hip and leg. He screamed a pained sound she’d never heard come from his mouth before he fell to the side. His head hit the cave floor with a loud thud, the wand and stone falling from his hands. Hermione dropped the gun to the ground. She could feel the rope breaking her irritated skin from the twisting she’d done to be able to shoot. Dangerous flames still held their place a few paces behind her, telling her Dolohov wasn’t dead.

Death stayed where it was, floating in place next to the glowing double spiral and the pool of diluted Peverell blood. Hermione didn’t fight the shiver of fear that raced down her back, feeling like a cat with its hair on end. She knew she needed to end this. If Dolohov woke up and Death was still here… Hermione knew she’d die. She’d fail. 

Bolstering herself, she mentally counted to three before using her upper body to hoist herself up. Her legs tingled as she stood, her balance wobbly before she centered herself. She cast her bound hands towards the Elder Wand, but the wood stayed still on the cave floor. She thought she’d felt a spark of magic beneath her skin, trying to rise to her command, but it was gone before she could grasp it. Panic wanted to rise, but she breathed out slowly before it could do so. In and out, she repeated the mantra in her head as she walked forward.

She was Death’s master, she told herself as she drew near. She wanted nothing from it save for it to leave back to the plane it came from. There was nothing else.

Why did it startle her to realize there was nothing to see beneath the dark cloak? Hermione asked herself this question even as she sucked in her breath on a scream at the realization. There was simply endless darkness where a face should be. Is that what would happen to her if Death wanted its trade? 

There were no eyes to meet, but Hermione lifted her chin and said calmly, “There is nothing I ask of you this day.” When nothing happened, she felt the panic start to rise again. “Please leave. I am your master, and there is nothing I want.” Without the heat of the flames to play havoc with her temperature, she could feel the cold start to creep in. This close to Death, the gloom in the air was tangible. “Why are you not listening to me? I want you to leave!”

Hermione bit her lip in frustration and looked away. There must be something she wasn’t doing right. The ritual book had fallen when Dolohov fell. Did she have time to try and read it? Without magic, it would be hard with her hands all but useless. A hysterical laugh built up in her throat. She’d been able to fire that stupid gun, but turning the pages of a book was out of the question. 

Her eyes landed on the double spiral, and she blinked.

Dolohov had summoned Death. What if that was it? Hermione may be its master, but her blood hadn’t been used to bring the entity here. Did that give Death the ability to resist her command? Hermione didn’t know the incantation he’d used during the summoning, but with Death already here, she wasn’t sure she needed it. What if it was as simple as replacing Dolohov’s blood with hers?

There was only one way to find out.

Hermione turned her attention to the spiral, and then found the wound on her forearm. The blood had already clotted, leaving bits of dried red on her skin. If she had a wand, she could do the same thing Dolohov had, using her magic to slice open her skin. But with her magic trapped, she’d have to resort to doing it the Muggle way. 

Raising her arm to her mouth, she bit down. Hermione winced at the pain, at the metallic taste that entered her mouth. Pulling away, she watched the open wound run with fresh blood. Twisting her arm as best she could, she pushed her skin against the double spiral, tracing the same path it had taken to form. She didn’t think about what she could be catching, mixing Dolohov’s blood with her own. Well, she  _ tried _ not to think about it, but she couldn’t help but grimace in disgust as she forced her arm to move.

All of a sudden, she felt her magic rise. It fought against her bonds, desperate to get out but unable to. Hermione stumbled back, almost tripping over Dolohov’s leg. The feeling of power built up, running down her arms and legs, through her fingers and toes. Her heart pounded furiously at the strain, feeling like she’d burst any second. The tiniest spark broke free from her hair, the small pop a whisper against her ear. Her magic was building itself up, and she had no way to expel it. 

Maybe she did.

Hermione locked onto the rope binding her hands together, the hemp stained from her irritated skin. Dolohov’s enchantment had held against her previous attempts to break free, but with her power gathering like this? One strong spell could do it, but she needed to concentrate. Any deviation or loss of control and she could say goodbye to her hands.

She pictured the rope in her mind, and only the rope. She imagined the coarse material as it rubbed against her wrists, of the spell woven into it to block magic. She poured all her hopes of being free, of escaping, of wishing for her magic to come to her defense. Then, pulling her wrists apart as far as they would go, she focused on the middle of the rope. “Diffindo!”

The rope splintered apart from the force of her spell. Prickles of feeling returned to her wrists. Hermione massaged one and then the other, her skin scratched up from the hemp, but was soon pulled back to the floating figure. She could feel it now, what had her magic trying to break free. Something called her to Death, the gloom settling on her shoulders like a second skin. She locked on the endless darkness beneath the hood, feeling as if she was staring into an alluring void. Yet, she was no longer bothered by it. 

She felt something settle on her shoulders, barely reacting when the Elder Wand and Ressurection Stone landed in her hands. She knew, if she wanted it, Death would devastate the world on her behalf. She could point her finger at the man laying defenseless before her and he’d die in an instant. Hermione realized deep down that now that Death had been summoned, it wouldn’t leave again until it got what it came for. No amount of commands would make it leave emptyhanded. She could feel the rightness of that thought in her bones.

Unbidden, images of Harry and Ron came to her eyes. They were saying something, the words fuzzy in her ears. Hermione leaned closer as if doing so would let her understand them better, her body almost brushing Death’s cloak. Then they were gone, and her parents were there instead. They smiled at her sadly, their hands joined as they had been when Hermione had found them all those years ago. Merlin, what she would give for one of her mother’s hugs right now. 

_ You can be with all of them, never parted again. _

Hermione didn’t question where the thought came from, knowing it was right. She  _ could _ be with them all again. She was the Master of Death. If she wished it, nothing would take them from her side. She stepped even closer, and if she wasn’t so focused on the images of her loved ones, she’d see that her lower legs and knees had touched the cloak and disappeared. Her mother’s arms opened, urging her to come to her. Hermione raised her arm and took another step forward.

The whistle was faint but familiar and far too close. Hermione felt a sharp tip skim over her arm. The shock and instant pain had her stumbling back, tripping over Dolohov and landing on her butt. Hermione saw the arrow crash against the stone wall, her head jerking to the other side of the cave.

Clint was looking at her in horror, no doubt mirroring her expression. He’d shot at her! Her! But then Hermione felt the pull again, looked over at Death, and saw her feet and ankles weren’t there, Death’s cloak covering that portion of her body.

Oh.

Hermione scrambled to her feet, relieved when her missing extremities came into view. The relief was short lived, however, as she felt a wave of anger come from Death. It staggered her, feeling this hot fury wash over her. 

“No! Those are dark flames. If you cross them, you’ll die.”

Hermione twisted her body, seeing Auror Jones holding Clint back from trying to come to her. Natasha was watching the scene warily, eye darting over everything. “Jones!” she called out. “Get them out of here.” Her attention was pulled away again as her magic reached out, answering the unwilling call of Death to its master. She started to move.

“Woman, you are out of your ever-loving mind! Don’t take one more step!” Clint shouted at her. She stopped. “Jones, you’re a freaking Wizard, aren’t you? Get rid of this fire.”

Hermione turned, intending to go help Jones dispel the dark spell, but found she couldn’t. Her body wouldn’t move toward them. She fought to put one foot in front of the other but found herself facing Death again. 

“Hermione!”

She bit her lip, clenching the wand and stone in her hands. What could she do? The compulsion to embrace Death was growing stronger. Hermione knew what it wanted. She fidgeted with the items in her hands, thinking of any way she could get herself out of this.

_ You need to think outside the box. _

Ron. Hermione swiveled her head, gasping when she saw two figures standing as if they’d always been there. “Ron...Harry…” Tears filled her eyes, falling down her cheeks in a sudden stream. She knew it was them, she could feel it. 

Harry stuck his hands in his pockets, giving her a sad grin.  _ Hey. _

“What…” Hermione looked down at the stone. Of course.

_ You need to think outside the box. _ Ron’s words repeated in her head.  _ You read the book. You know the answer. _

Hermione sent him an irritated glare through watery eyes. “Don’t you think I  _ would _ know if I knew the answer?”

“Who is she talking to?”

Hermione heard the question, but she ignored it, her mind already racing. The book. There was something in the book. 

Harry cocked his head to the side.  _ We talked about this once. I wondered how an entity such as Death would answer a summons so easily, and you gave me a lecture. _

“That’s right,” she murmured. “Eternal beings from other planes don’t necessarily have to answer a call, but there is a compulsion built into the rituals when the caster has items that belong to the entity itself.” She looked down at the wand and the stone.

_ You know what you have to do. _

She didn’t know which boy had said it, but it didn’t matter. They were right. She knew what she had to do. But… “Harry, Jaime’s inheritance…”

Harry let out a rueful chuckle.  _ So he doesn’t have an extra advantage when getting into mischief. Somehow I know he’ll be fine if it means Aunt Mione gets to be in his life. _

Her breath caught, words sticking in her throat as she looked at them. “I’ll never see you two again.”

Then they were right next to her, placing their hands on her shoulders, crowding her between them as they used to.  _ Sure you will, but hopefully not for a very long time. _

She curled her arms around herself, nodding miserably. “Okay.”

Hermione swore she felt Ron squeeze her shoulder though she knew it was all in her mind.  _ There’s a letter in my coat pocket. Do me a favor and deliver it, will you? _

Then another squeeze on her other shoulder, Harry’s voice right in her ear.  _ Tell my children I’m sorry and that I love them. Tell Ginny that making a family with her was one of the greatest experiences of my life. _

“Stay with me,” Hermione begged.

_ Until the end. But you already knew that. _

Resolved, Hermione didn’t fight the magic anymore. She took the couple steps left to brush up against Death again, distantly hearing renewed shouting, but paying it no mind. It waited for her, calling her to embrace the power it so readily offered. Her heart yearned to accept, struggling against the thought of losing the only physical connection she had with her boys. Her magic was ready to accept the role, practically jumping out of her core.

Hermione held her hands out face up and opened them. “Take them!” Hermione shouted the words even as her heart pleaded for her to stop. “Take them and never come back!”

The double spiral started to wilt before her eyes, the brightness that had once covered the cave in red dimming as the blood dissipated slowly. The pool at the bottom did the same, the puddle growing smaller and smaller with each second. The cave started shaking again, rocks raining down around them. Hermione felt an enormous chill go down her spine, the gloom from before smothering the world around her. Death surrounded her, its cloak embracing her until all she could see was black.

For a moment, time stood still. Hermione couldn’t see or hear, could barely breathe from the pressure on her chest.

Then she was being pulled into Clint’s arms, her legs giving out as they fell to the rocky floor. Death was gone and her hands were empty. She could no longer feel the weight of the Invisibility Cloak over her shoulders. The flames had been put out, leaving the cave darkly lit from Jone’s small ball of light. She could hear loud cracks outside the cave, a cacophony of voices nearby. Hermione saw Dolohov lying where she’d taken him down, noting with a spreading numbness that there was an arrow sticking through his back. She knew he was gone.

“You killed him,” Hermione whispered.

Clint pressed a hard kiss to her hair, his arms wrapping around her tighter. “Jones said the flames were too strong for him alone to get rid of. I figured, with that bastard the only bad guy still alive, he’d be the one to shoot.” Another kiss. “I was right.”

Then Natasha was kneeling in front of her, tilting her chin up and looking over her face. “We need to get her seen to. If she isn’t in shock, she soon will be.”

Pretty soon the cave lit up more with more Auror’s pouring into the cave. Questions were barked, answers shouted back. Hermione looked around her, searching for the two people she wanted most at that moment. She knew it was in vain. They were long gone. But she did it anyway, wishing with all her heart that they’d be standing there like they had been a moment ago.

They weren’t, of course, and that was the last straw. Turning into Clint’s chest, Hermione curled herself into a ball and wept.

* * *

Hermione knelt in front of the two headstones, their words freshly carved and spaces filled with flowers from those that’d come to pay their respects.

_ Ronald Billius Weasley. Harry James Potter. _

Her heart hitched, as it always did when she thought of her two best friends now, but she was able to keep herself from breaking down. There was a plot next to theirs reserved for her. That tidbit had been revealed to her in a bad moment by Kingsley. It was morbid to think that the Ministry had already secured her final resting place, but she filed that feeling away with everything else that she wasn’t ready to delve into. 

She took out the photograph she’d stuffed in her pocket, placing it between the two headstones and wandlessly placing a sticking charm over it. It was a picture of the three of them in their third year at Hogwarts, their faces lit up in laughter as they huddled together after playing in the snow. It was the last year they’d truly had before things grew serious. “You two will always hold special places in my heart,” she whispered.

“Hey.”

Hermione stopped and turned her head, smiling dimly up at Clint. “Hey.”

“The Quinjet is ready whenever you are.”

She nodded, thinking about the letter in her coat pocket. It had been bloodied and torn in a few places. Hermione had taken the liberty of fixing it, knowing that’s what Ron would have wanted. She blew out a shuttered breath. “Merlin, this is harder than I thought.” She felt him place his hand on her shoulder. She gripped his fingers. “I’m off to do as you asked Ron, though you gave me little to bloody go on. I hope you know that. I can’t take too long as your mum is liable to track me down and off me for scaring her. She’s watched me like a hawk whenever she can, likely thinking I’ll disappear again for another few years.”

Clint squeezed her shoulder.

“Right.” Hermione shook her head. “South America is far and I have to go. I… I love you two, so much. I’ll see you soon.”

Clint helped her up, arm going around her and bringing her in for a hug. He picked up her hand, bringing it up to his lips and placing a soft kiss on the skin above her ring finger, the shiny metal glinting in the sunlight. “You okay?”

Hermione leaned her head on his chest, nodding minutely. “I’m getting there.”

He kissed her head. “You’re one of the strongest people I know, Baby.”

Only because she had him. She could move forward, knowing he walked the path right along with her. She burrowed into his chest. “I love you.”

“I should hope so.” She could feel the grin against her hair as he cuddled her. “You agreed to be Mrs. Barton after all.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “A simple ‘I love you too’ would have sufficed, Clint.”

Clint pulled back, his face set in confusion. “I’m giving you my last name. I think that would be obvious.”

Hermione snorted, but before she could say anything else, Natasha stalked towards them. “Am I taking the jet by myself then? You can do your idiot flirting on there.”

When Clint focused his attention on Nat, Hermione glanced over her shoulder as they walked. She saw two barely visible silhouettes watching them walk away. She knew it was her imagination, a trick of the light joining with the wish in her mind. But she bit her lip anyway, silently asking them to wish her luck, to be with her.

_ Until the end. _

She smiled.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who commented, bookmarked, and gave Kudos to this story! I sincerely appreciate the support! I'm grateful for all the feedback, both positive, negative, and constructive. Thank you to my Beta and Artist for the event that started this story! Their support was EVERYTHING, I'd still be overthinking a million things without them. If y'all are interested in another Clint/Hermione story, I have another WIP I'm posting chapters for called Magic Unknown.
> 
> Check me out on Twitter and Tumblr: MWolfe13

**Author's Note:**

> Check me out on Twitter and Tumblr: MWolfe13


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